A Stranger in a Mask
by Zizalada
Summary: The daughter of a prostitute and skooma addict, Sira Caronte knew nothing but humiliation and precariousness in her native Anvil. She has grown into a proud survivor - one more than willing to bend the rules to secure some gold. Skyrim was supposed to be just a blank slate for her scams, but Alduin the World Eater may just create her chance at a manor with servants.
1. Intro: A death you don't deserve

_"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."_

 _"God has given you one face, and you make yourself another. "_  
\- William Shakespeare

* * *

 _From her grim Anvil days, Sira could always remember three things: the sharp pangs of envy, the dull pain of tired muscles, and the sweet delight at watching her own reflection when wearing her princess tiara. This tiara was a copper and sapphire circlet that simply appeared one day, behind a crate of sweet rolls she was meant to take to The Count's Arms, that elegant establishment where only the prettiest wenches were allowed to serve drinks – and only the most delicate, goddess-like ladies were allowed to drink them._

 _When she stumbled upon the prettiest object she had ever seen, Sira Caronte was just 11 years old and hoping to earn a few spare septims running errands behind her mother's back. She was too young to work at either of Anvil's taverns – although she knew which one to aspire to – and still not schooled enough to know anything about conjurations and enchantments, but she had eyes: although humble copper, the circlet had a special blueish glow to it that, to her eyes, made it worthy of a princess. After quickly checking nobody was looking, she stuffed it inside her dress, finished her gig, and sneaked back home to try her treasure on._

 _If the circlet itself was not worthy of royalty (which was beyond the possible knowledge of a port urchin born to a "soiled" tavern wench), the feeling of invulnerability and radiance that came from wearing it could turn you into a noblewoman, Sira thought. Fatigue ceased the second she placed it on her forehead, replaced by a sudden impulse to straighten her shoulders and walk with her head high. Now she was a real elegant lady, tall and proud, who would take shit from no one._

 _Footsteps were heard. The door creaked. Emilia was back and if she saw the tiara, she'd want to sell it and use the money to buy her an apprenticeship or some other plebeian purpose. She quickly took it off and hid it, only to see herself turned back into the usual tired, slouchy, dirty girl._

* * *

So the Pale Pass was not the best idea. Really. For future reference, Sira, whenever someone tells you a road is "closed by avalanches and infested by rebels", choose a different one. Then of course, what were the options exactly, genius? It's the only way to cross from Bruma to Skyrim for days on either direction, and it was crossing or gaol, once old Lucia realised she wasn't getting the gown she'd paid for. It had to be Pale Pass.

I was hoping I could reach an understanding with these rebels so they'd let me cross – although judging by the clinking of swords and Nord-accented groans of pain, whatever skirmish is happening down there, it is not going to the rebels' favor. This is not good at all – I thought my only problem was to find someplace covered and warm before nightfall, but if the Imperials take over Pale Pass, there will be no way to negotiate silent passage. And it's getting cold already.

Maybe I should just try to crawl my way through one side while everyone is busy killing each other? The pass seems to be at its widest point right here, but it's still easy to see enough big rocks to hide behind on both sides. It's simply a matter of advancing slowly, watching my steps, making sure my coin doesn't clink, and to avoid stepping on anything that may drop on a soldier's head. Let's get going, then.

I can see the end of the wide section. From there, I should just jump back on the road and run north. Not the most ladylike start for my new life, but once I hit the first town, I'll be ready to play my part. I can barely hear the soldiers anymore, go Sira! Just the chirping of birds, the howling of wind, and… the grunts of a troll?

* * *

I used to think there was no worst feeling than being tired after a day's hard labour, and no worst pain than that of spraining your ankle when sparring too harshly. I thought the sailors' lewd comments were something to be truly afraid of.

Waking up on a cart, tied up, smelling like dried blood, feeling the effects of blunt force on the back of my head, and barely dressed, that's fear. Suddenly being arrested and having my tiara taken away seemed frivolous – they took it away anyway, alongside three years' worth of savings, and my orcish daggers. And if the "True King's" steward next to me had guessed it right (and he seemed knowledgeable enough of all things crime and punishment) we were on our way to be beheaded. At least I get to die a rebel rather than a serving maid.


	2. The day it rained fire

Before I came to Skyrim, I was vaguely aware that Tamriel was full of less-diverse places than my hometown. The Gold Coast, with its trade ships coming from every part of Nirn, its alleyways where you were just as likely to be mugged by your cousin as by a Mer or Khajiit, was no stranger to racial slurs and demeaning remarks, especially if money or a woman were involved. However, I had not seen open, unapologetic racial prejudice until I left Anvil and started making my way through small hamlets are villages, were all strangers were suspicious by default - and those of strange races may as well be guilty before any crime is committed.

From what scarce news reached the Imperial Province about the rebellion, I knew that racism was entrenched to the core of it, on both sides. I was expecting to find slights and distrust everywhere – and prepared to shield behind my fake identity as an elegant noblewoman. It made no matter. From the second I was mistaken for a Troll, I was stripped of my disguise and reminded of the one thing that unites all intelligent races, human, beastfolk, and mer alike: the unyielding, uncompromising will to keep surviving by any means necessary, up to the end of the line.

* * *

 _The first few days after finding the silver circlet, she was particularly sneaky, and tried every trick to avoid going back to street where she'd found it. It was clear such a precious object was worth money and had an owner (one who perhaps was hiring thugs to retrieve it). Asking for help to find the owner was dangerous too, since everyone was going to assume she had stolen it._

 _More importantly, she did not want to give it up. It became a religious ritual to be followed every day, right before supper: to stand in front of the looking glass, hand placed squarely on her hips, and her secret tiara on top of her tight curls. Powerful, commanding, beautiful, invincible: for all it could be on her imagination, there was a very real sensation of strength that came from wearing it. Sira figured it came simply from owning beautiful things, as all rich ladies seemed just as likely to walk around as if they owned everyone around them._

 _The tiara was her only beautiful thing, and it seemed made just for her! If the roughly-polished silver did not give a majestic air to her unruly, wiry jet-black hair (that one that got people to question whether her father had been a Redguard), the sapphire it had on top was the exact same deep blue as her eyes, and the rustic rune-inspired motifs on the sides made her look like a Nord princess (which she could've been, for all she knew. Mother herself had no idea which of that week's customers had been Sira's father)._

 _Someday, Sira taught, I'll leave these docks and mother's sleazy friends and the stench of fish, and I'll go to Skyrim and simply tell everyone I'm a dead Jarl's daughter. Nobody will question it if I'm wearing this._

* * *

I wasn't on the list. I had never been so glad to not be on the list. I did not want to attend this fancy party anyway. Pity the captain in charge did not seem to care.

In retrospect, it's a good thing that poor horse thief tried to escape in such a frantic way. If it hadn't been for him, I probably would've done the same, desperate as I was. Adrenaline and fear blinded me when one of the auxiliaries, Hadvar, asked me my name. I had been mentally preparing to use my made-up Nord name for weeks, to turn back when hearing it, but since I was going to die, it seemed unnecessary. Then I remembered I had decided to pretend to be with the rebels anyway. I stammered. He looked at me with pity.

"Sira Caronte" I said, killing Danica Jenssen before she was born.

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

For a 200-pound bundle of muscle and iron set on killing you, he was surprisingly polite about it. His voice was apologetic, and his gestures seemed carefully calculated to avoid accidentally hurting anyone with his six-feet-tall frame.

The block smelled of fresh blood, which is much more acrid, but a lot less unpleasant than the smell of dried blood. My eyes kept moving around, trying to grasp every detail of my surroundings – looking for the way out, maybe, but freaking out the executioner in the process, I hoped. My stomach growled – no, something else roared, and everything was set ablaze.

This was the first time I saw fire raining. I don't recall much from this point onwards, and few from that day are still alive to help me complete that puzzle. I do recall, blurrily, feeling more alive than ever as I ran into a tower. Rocks fell on top of people. There was a hole in a thatched roof, and then said roof was also on fire. Children screamed, soldiers screamed, a soldier shielded a child and took him to safety. Charred flesh smells the same regardless of age or race (yet another thing that should bond us all): a lot like roasted venison.

Amidst the chaos, I can only recall two things clearly. First, Alduin's face: a black embodiment of heat and death, his hungry nostrils inhaling my scent as if trying to suck my soul away. I knew right then it was me he was after.

The second thing is the moment in which Hadvar, after getting rid of my bounds, handed me an iron sword and we silently promised each other to watch each other's back as if they were our own. I'd had toy wooden swords as a child and I had smacked several potential bullies with them, but as soon as started transitioning from girl to woman, all my potential sparring partners disappeared. In the Imperial province, where everything's more rigid, swords are not deemed womanly, and even lower class women would be ashamed of having enough muscle to wield one. My now-lost daggers had been enough of a transgression, tolerable only because I was a bastard from the dockside.

I stared at it for a few seconds. I came to Skyrim with a tiara, some rehearsed polished manners, and made up stories about silk dresses and royal receptions. I found a no-BS, battle-hardened society and a man who, without a second thought, just handed me a weapon identical to his and branded me his equal.

Several hours later, we finally arrived at his uncle's home. His ankle was broken on two places thanks to a frostbite spider, and I was close to fainting after all the blood lost when facing by two wolves, but we were alive.


	3. Gratitude is no heavy burden

I woke up right before dawn, confused by the textures around me, nauseated, in pain. Of the adrenaline rush and empowerment of the previous day, I had little left. Aggressive flashes of the previous day's events began to flood my mind: Nothing like the sight of your own charred self to remember what a dragon is and what it does: my entire left leg, from the knee down, was heavily burnt and blistered. Something had slashed me from the upper neck to the right collarbone, but I couldn't remember what. Surely I would've noticed something like that?

The shocked expressions in the faces of Hadvar's relatives were a lot clearer – but not their names. Hadvar had been unable to stand by himself, and his ankle was in such a bad shape that I had to use a healing spell for the first (smaller) fracture before the big, painful fracture could be seen to by his family. I must have passed out right afterwards, amidst winces of pain and shouts of disbelief at our dragon story. I wouldn't have believed it either, but at least they were nice enough to bandage me up and let me spend the night. Divines smile on them. What now, though?

All my supplies, alongside 8 months' worth of savings were gone. My clothes were beyond acceptable, holes burnt and pieces torn all over. The armour I'd "borrowed" was an Imperial guard armour, surely impersonating the law was asking for extra trouble?

With some luck, the previous day's loot would yield enough for a new belted tunic, and I could find honest work somewhere? This was definitely not what I came to Skyrim for – if I had been happy with menial labour, I could've stayed home; the possible scars on my legs had pretty much closed the gate at trying out mom's line of work, so at least that temptation was closed.

Ah, mom! I know you always wanted to make sure I'd be better that you, but I'm sure this was not how! I'd spent years building that stupid castle of fantasy and pretty things in my head, fancy myself something I'm not, lie, pretend and steal… only to run away and find myself empty handed once more. That should teach me.

Sunrise came and passed while I curled up with nothing but my own vulnerability, not caring if the rest of the household was waking up, until a tiny hand placed a sweet roll on my lap.

"Please don't cry. Does it hurt much? I'll tell mommy to give you a potion."

I stared at the girl. She had big, round eyes, full of curiosity and something that was definitely not pity.

"I'm Dorthee, remember? Hadvar's niece. Do you want me to call mommy? You look pale."

"No, it's fine. It doesn't hurt that much" I attempted a smile, must have been funny because she giggled. "How's your uncle?"

"Daddy won't let him leave bed. So you're from the Imperial City? Are you in the Legion too? Are you his boss?"

"No!" I had no choice but to chuckle. Kids are annoying in their questions sometimes. "I'm from Anvil, further south…" Alvor's appearance, bacon platter in tow, interrupted the naïve interrogation.

"Dorthee, please go help your mother. Sira? I hope she didn't wake you just to ask you things. How are you feeling? Can you sit up? We were really scared after you fainted" There was something reassuring and fatherly about his voice. Well, my imagined idea of fatherly.

"I am better, yes, still very lightheaded." I placed some cushions behind me, and got up slowly. "I don't think I can stand up yet, but as soon as I can, I promise…"

He placed the bacon platter straight on my hands. "Promise nothing and take your time. You lost an awful deal of blood, but I cannot forget your first priority was to mend my nephew's ankle. Thanks to you, he is going to walk again. We owe you, and he personally feels forever in your debt."

"Thank you, sir. It was nothing, considering if it weren't for him, I would've been eaten by a dragon."

"Which is exactly what I needed to talk to you about."

"Right." Was he still doubting our sanity? Surely someone else had noticed such a massive shadow, someone else had survived? "I understand it sounds impossible, I almost don't believe it myself. But yeah, there was a dragon yesterday at Helgen, and it breathed fire, and it killed."

"And did it truly show up to let Ulfric Stormcloak escape?"

Alarms rung on my conscience. Strictly speaking, I was the one about to die – but did he know that?

"I suppose he was next in line, yes. But I don't know if he escaped. Once the fires started, everyone just stopped caring, I guess. I suppose Hadvar was able to tell you as much last night."

"Actually, he said he was pretty sure he escaped. Nevermind, he is a soldier, and you're not. The dragon sounds like the bigger menace either way. I thought he was hallucinating from the pain of his injury. The town's drunkard claims he saw it fly, but most sensible people paid him no attention. Hadvar is no drunkard, and the burns you arrived with were not made by a torch."

Again, the caring undertone. If he caught on my half-lie, he was not angry about it.

"Thank you for tending to them. And the bed, and the food. I could never repay you."

"It was the least we could do."

"No, I mean, I literally have no coin…"

"It's no bother. My nephew will walk again, and that should be enough. I could use a favor."

"Anything!" He could've ordered me to kill his daughter, for all I cared. Kindness was not something I've ever been used to.

"As soon as you are strong enough to make the journey, I need you to bring word of the dragon attack to the Jarl of Whiterun. I can't leave the forge unattended, and Hadvar won't be up to such a trip for a week or two, if we want his ankle to heal completely, but the Jarl must know. He must send troops to protect the village. It's just a couple of hours east of here, but I can provide you with some supplies for the trip. I'll sharpen your blade and all, just in case."

There it was, again. The wink of complicity and trust, and the offer of a weapon. It seems like around here, there's no more natural display of regard that offering weapons.

"Consider it done as soon as I can sprint again. Hadvar is a soldier, he needs full use of his legs." Just as I said that, it hit me that I knew little else of Hadvar – and that he knew little else of me.

"Exactly. Sigrid will be back shortly to help you change your bandages. Meanwhile, eat and sleep, you need the strength."

He left half a pound of fried bacon on my lap, a sweet roll, and a task. This is why they think Imperials are too full of words.


	4. Steel is not always cold

For all its cold reputation, the mid-afternoon sun felt inviting enough as soon as my legs were able to support me. I still needed to move carefully, to avoid rubbing my burns against anything, and any attempt at swiftness was followed by vertigo, but I managed to dress myself in less than half an hour.

Through the window, I could see Hadvar sitting out in the gallery, staring into the road. It seemed like the best opportunity to thank him, check on him, and find out what he'd told his family of me. With my money and circlet gone, and my – stupid – plans destroyed, I felt the strange urge to get to know him and have him trust me. Partly because I knew I needed to cultivate the one acquaintance I had in the entire province, partly because… I simply needed to talk.

"Hello, there" I said. He nearly jumped off his chair, even if I had not even tried to sneak on him. Odd. He regained composure quickly, at least.

"Hullo! How are you feeling? Come sit with me, please!" Overeagerly, he pointed at the extra chair next to his.

"Dizzy. Confused. Better. You?"

"A little bit, yes. The important thing is that I'll walk, though, and for that I'm grateful." He patted me on the back of the hand.

"It's nothing. I'm really grateful to your aunt and uncle too, and to you, for that matter. It's nice to be alive."

We remained awkwardly silent for a while. Life and limbs saved or not, it was clear I was among complete strangers. Down the road, logs fell off a cart, making a great deal of noise. This time, I was the one who jumped for cover.

"Just when I was thinking I envied your calm" He said, attempting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I have not been able to sleep, I keep seeing that child…"

"I didn't know where I was when woke up. Then I remembered its face, and the smell of charred flesh." I'm never eating venison again, I thought, but I chose not to say it. No need to ruin it for him.

"And I've been sitting here all day, like an old man, just so I can watch the skies. I've been soldiering for years, but I had never felt like this after a battle."

"Well, I don't suppose you've had that many battles that involved mythical creatures?"

He chuckled. I can work with this.

"It goes away after a while. That's what I've heard."

He nodded, and did not need to ask me what "it" was.

"I don't suppose you've seen that many battles, of any kind."

I lifted an eyebrow at this. "You suppose? I thought I was a dangerous rebel." Yes, I had to bring it up eventually. May as well know at once if I was going to have to sleep in some stable.

"On behalf of my superiors, I am once again sorry that we tried to execute you without trial. If it helps you feel any better, they probably burned at Helgen, alongside the only list with your name on it, as far as I know."

"Call me selfish, but no, that does not make feel any better. Either way, it's not the first time I've seen the people in charge fucking it up for the whole team. I'm from Cyrodiil, after all"

"Ah, so we are a bit rebellious then?" He smirked. Is this how Nords flirt?

"Oh, officer, please don't call the Thalmor, I'll do anything!" I replied, complete with an affected damsel-in-distress gesture.

"My lady! You shock me! You presume to bribe a Legion member? I never knew Imperial ladies were so decadent, not even runaway tomboys" He kept laughing.

"How dare you call me a tomboy! Next you'll say I'm Orcish or that I'm lacking an eyebrow"

"Well, yes, the right one is a bit burnt towards the edges."

"Excellent, it will match the big chunk of hair you're missing over here" I said, approaching to grab a wild chunk behind his ear. He tried to dodge it, and nearly fell off his chair. All of the sudden, he was no longer laughing, just studying me.

"So you're not a Stormcloak. You sound like a well-bred debutante from the Imperial City, but you don't look the part – your skin and eyes are too fair, you're taller than General Tullius, and your arms and killing instincts must have been trained for something beyond balls and gowns. In fact, if it weren't for that strange hair of yours, I'd take you for a Nord in a heartbeat. So…"

"Done appraising me?" I raised an eyebrow. Is this still flirting?

"Not until I get your full story"

"Then just ask for it."

"Only if the mysterious shield-maiden promises to answer."

Ah, but of course. I had plenty of answers available, and as long he didn't expect the truth he could get his wish. The truth was much too ridiculous anyway.

"I was looking for my father." He had already decided I looked Nord enough, and nobody could say it was false. "I was born and raised in Anvil, and my mother had a Redguard grandparent, that's where my hair comes from. My father left on a trade mission when I was 2 and didn't come back. I don't even recall his face, but I had a heirloom from him – a circlet with gems and the shield of Morthal on one side. My mother passed, so I sold everything from our store and came to look for him." No need for him to know when had mother died, under what circumstances, or what was our trade. "I'm no delicate noblewoman, but we did business for a lot of them, so I had tutors." Well, it was more like the delicate flowers' filthy husbands, but again, close enough to the truth.

"And now the heirloom is gone. Did you have any other leads to find your father?"

"No. I placed all my eggs on that basket. Clearly I'm not a shrewd businesswoman." I tried to keep my voice as matter-of-fact as possible. Like, this is it, why are we still talking about it.

"How old are you?"

"23" Four years ago, the first time I had pressed a dagger against someone's throat to make sure he'd stay quiet, I had been 23.

"23 and stranded on a strange land where you know nobody, chasing a man who may be long dead based on the markings of a heirloom?"

"I didn't like Anvil that much, I didn't fit in and was sick of the heat." I didn't like the stinky alley where Mom's skooma habit had driven us, more likely. "Not the best thought-of plan, I know"

"Indeed, you would've been wasted as a business woman. You're a warrior." I didn't even have to remind myself of the cultural differences, his tone made it very clear he was complimenting me.

"I am no warrior. I had never grabbed a sword before yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Ok, maybe wooden ones, when nobody was watching."

"Aaaaand? Daggers, maybe?

I stared at him. "How did you know?"

"I've trained plenty of new recruits. I can tell when someone's never faced real danger. It's damn hard to remember how to aim for the kill in the middle of a life-threatening battle – it takes practice to replace natural instinct with more useful techniques. Most green fighters just shake it around nonsensically. Either you've got more training that you're willing to admit, or you're used to defending your life."

"I'm used to having things to defend, yes. I've always carried a large dagger on each side. "

"A dual-wielder? And she's no warrior, she says!"

I snorted. "Highborn or not, fighting is for those who can't sweet-talk their way out of trouble and negotiate their safety with some Alto wine."

"So I've heard. Doesn't look like they convinced you, it must be your father's legacy." There he was, puffing his chest already. These are proud people, and this was a card that I should learn to play smoothly. "If this serves as any consolation, maybe you were meant to end up stranded here. Maybe you were never meant to be an Imperial trader. You're clearly made of steel."

"I suppose there is no higher compliment here. So what's your story?"

"I don't really have one."

"Of course you do. Why did you join Legion? How did you end up fighting your neighbour from down the road?"

"I grew up here. Both my parents were in the Legion, so I stayed with my aunt and uncle and got to enjoy a normal family life as a child. Once I was big enough to feel that exact same impulse to see the world and find adventure, I simply did what felt logical. Lucky, in a guess." No, not logical, I thought, and not truly lucky. I know that matter-of-fact tone. You got dealt a crappy card by life, I'm sure of it.

"So your mother was allowed to continue in the Legion after having you? In Cyrodiil, they usually make them retire as soon as they marry." They don't, as far as I know, but he seems willing enough to believe it.

"Not here. Not even the Companions, with all their traditions and secrets, bat an eye at warrior women."

"The Companions?"

"They're like the Fighters Guild, but much older and much more respected."

"Looks like fighters always are around here. So how long since you joined? Had the rebellion started?"

"A bit over five years."

"So you signed up to protect people from frost trolls, now to fight your neighbours."

"I did, yes. Do you think that makes me naïve?"

"No, I think it makes you a good person. There's nothing wrong with hoping for the best, and then making due with the real."

"Don't get me wrong, I truly want Skyrim to get rid of the bloody Stormcloaks! Ulfric is but a power-hungry tyrant set on provoking the Thalmor."

"I don't need to be convinced"

"Don't need, or don't want to?"

"Both, really. I wasn't born yesterday, I know the Thalmor are no small threat. But I did arrive in Skyrim yesterday, so I'm not forming a full opinion yet. What about your parents?"

"What about them?"

"They didn't just retire from the Legion peacefully, did they?"

"My father fell abruptly ill and passed eight years ago."

"And your mother?"

Even handsome, sweet men can show pure hatred in their eyes.

"Twenty five years ago, she asked for leave to visit her sister in Markarth. She got caught up on the incident. Never returned. I was just six."

His voice went suddenly icy, and a vein started throbbing on his left temple. As kind and soft-mannered as he'd shown to be, I did not dare to ask him what was the incident. I left a few seconds pass before I squeezed his hand. He let me, so I decided that it was safe to change the subject.

"I promised Alvor to carry a message to Whiterun – Kynareth-willing, I should be able to do that tomorrow, or by Loredas at the latest."

"But you'll come back after that, right? I won't be able to begin the trek to Solitude for a couple of weeks, I was hoping to teach you a few things? Just to balance your sword better, maybe lift some steel ingots so you can later carry a shield?"

He seemed genuinely excited about that prospect, even if still a bit on edge. Meanwhile, I had forgotten I had promised him to join the Legion! ARRGH. I suppose, all in all, I can't be blamed. We were attacked by wolves thirty seconds after that.

I'd have to find a way to dodge, I mean, _indefinitely_ _postpone_ that commitment once his spirits cooled down.

"It's playdate, then! Let me fetch some honey nut treats to celebrate" As I stood up from my chair, the ground under me moved. It wasn't the dizziness, or the sudden realization that this is what respect felt like. It was realizing that I had nowhere else to go.

The **Markarth Incident** happened a few years after the White Gold Concordat was signed, but it has no exact date - so I took the liberty of assgning one.  
It was one of the most important events that led to the Stormcloak Rebellion.  
The Jarl of the Reach asked Ulfric to help him retake Markarth (which was under control of the Reachmen), promising he would lift the ban on Talos worship in return. Ulfric took the city ruthlessly, allegedly torturing Reachwomen and, once inside, executing everyone who didn't support him (farmers, merchants, and the elderly included). 


	5. Respect is meant to be earned

_Eleven or twelve is too young for many things, but more than old enough to understand what disdain means. And Sira was already an expert at disdain by age 8. You don't need to understand what Skooma is too understand what the entire tavern thinks of people who go to extreme lengths to get more of it. And just because market stalls were everywhere, Sira was quick to realize that some things were not meant to be sold – even if the buyers would get a free pass._

 _In many ways, Sira had no mother – just Emilia, the woman who had given birth to her. They lived in a dark, stuffy room in an alley, just a stone's throw from the docks. One large bed, a couple of wooden buckets, a looking glass, and two cupboards with more bright clothes than food in them. Whoring was profitable, by all accounts, but almost every dime of Emilia's earnings went straight to feed her addiction, and while she laid in bed "talking to the moon", Sira was left to her own devices – whether it meant gathering food, doing small gigs around the market or docks, or just looking for trouble._

 _Finding food was hard enough as a child, but at least charity was reliable. As Sira approached adolescence and began developing a female form, strangers stopped being so disinterested. By the time she was 16, Sira already seemed to be done growing, towering at least half a head above other women, her large hipbones and wide shoulders hiding her scrawniness. She was forced to learn how to move quickly and mind her surroundings. From watching drunk sailors brawl, she learnt how to shape her fists to give the maximum amount of pain, to quickly block treacherous back attacks, and how to slash someone's cheek with a dagger in less time than it takes to say "whore"._

 _One morning, as she was entering the Harborside Warehouse – she'd scored a gig loading crates onto a departing ship – when a grimy looking Dunmer groped her bosom as he passed by. He was quickly shoved down the stairs without a second thought. He'd have been another anonymous creep if Sira had not arrived home that afternoon to an empty room and a trembling note:_

 _My dear, lovely daughter:_ _I have been blind all these years. With your light feet and insolent silences, I never realized you are far from the little street devil you used to be. You are also not a respectable woman yet, and you may never be thanks to me._ _I have made us the laughing stock of the alley and you into prey for some disgusting gray elf. I hope it's not too late to turn our lives around. I have gone to the Chapel of Kynareth to ask for a cure. This is barely a life for me, and should never be a life for you. Divines willing, I will get the strength to get us something better._ _Love, your mother_

 _Sira, ever the realist, burnt the note and half-hoped Emilia would never come back. She could just feed herself, and enjoyed no longer having to nurse a drugged burden. However, Emilia showed up back on their doorstep two weeks later, hair washed and shiny, and with the most austere expression she had ever seen._

 _"I got a job at Morvayne's." Emilia said, almost apologetically. "I'll dust off shelves and sweep floors." Sira was ready to just throw the door at her face. She was 16 already, and doing better on her own._

 _"Cleaning for the blacksmith? Doesn't sound like it will pay very well. How are we going to keep buying food and that wretched drink of yours?"_

 _"We won't. I'm never approaching skooma, moon sugar, not even wine, ever again."_

 _Things changed. For once, Emilia started mothering Sira in ways that she hadn't dared to since she was six. Suddenly she was telling her what to do, telling her to mind her hair, making home cooked meals, and giving her sincere hugs. Sira was no longer allowed to get into brawls with the boys, to take "manly" jobs lifting heavy things, or bring home trinkets of mysterious origin. Emilia even had one of the priestesses arrange a "properly feminine" apprenticeship for Sira, with a prestigious seamstress._

 _They were just a couple of notches above miserable, but no longer going hungry or doing anything "dishonourable". Emilia was trying hard at making them "decent" women, but Sira felt they were just playing house – that everyone in the alley remembered Emilia's past profession and that she'd have prettier things if she were on her own._

* * *

That evening it rained, and my head started to ache, as it always does. Back in Anvil, this was no big deal, since rain was scarce enough and nothing would get done during it, but here it was said to be a common occurrence. Further proof, if I needed it, that I didn't think this trip through.

My evident poor spirits, however, were attributed to overexertion, so I was treated to a chair by the fire and more boiled cream tarts that I could swallow. After pronouncing them my new favourite dessert and vastly superior to anything I'd had back in Cyrodiil, Sigrid came over to bring me the latest gossip on a lot of people I had never met – a love triangle involving a fellow Imperial, a bard, and an elf! Robbers breaking into the general goods store – and to help me fit the belted tunic they gave me. Overwhelmed as I was with all the warmth, I insisted on helping her improve some of her own clothes. All in all, for the first peaceful evening at home in my life, it was going rather well.

I was almost expecting to be unceremoniously kicked out the next morning, as it was evident that finding bed space for two extra people was not fully sustainable in such a small household. I was feeling much recovered, but I was also beginning to predict cracks in my façade: the warmer Alvor and Sigrid acted towards me, the higher the risk they would ask question that I would not be able to answer convincingly.

However, no restlessness of mine could compete with Hadvar's increasing signs of boredom. He would never be comfortable just sitting idly, and I'm still certain that if I hadn't been around to distract him, he would've ended up tied to a chair. Armed with a couple of wooden clubs from Alvor's workshop and some wooden spoons, we managed to overlook the fact that he couldn't leave his chair to stage some basic fencing instruction.

We spent most of the day going over the basic differences between holding a dagger and striking with a sword. Half-playfully, we sparred while sitting down and went over the main blocking techniques – years of trained instinct helped me grasps those concepts much more quickly than he expected. As bonding opportunities go, it was perfect: the physical nature of it turned my unelegant figure into an advantage, it provided close contact, and gave him a chance to show off.

"Now, if the blow comes sideways, from the left, like this" He demonstrated with a club "then you don't want to risk it even getting close – it will be getting the strength from the entire torso, not just the arm muscle. You want to block him as soon as possible and use that to push him backwards – and then just perforate his stomach"

"What if I were to skip the shield and just keep one sword on each hand? – I asked him, clubs in hand – I could slice some Stormcloak's throat _while_ opening up their bellies"

I mimicked the movements with my hands, careful to only brush his torso ever so slightly. I did not invent the game, but I know it thoroughly – even if I'm not used to it feeling _natural_.

"Ma'am, I can't begin to explain how exciting it is to hear you say that."

"Exciting? Ma'am? When did I turn 30?"

Pretend to frown, Sira, and transition into an intense gaze. There you go.

"A woman who dual wields cannot be called 'miss', even if a delicate southern flower. Mere preservation instinct."

Break into a smile, and pull back. Always leave them wanting more.

He was playing his part as the honourable gentleman extremely well. It had been a while since I had been made feel desirable, and I enjoyed his gallantry – to the point of feeling slightly guilty, perhaps. I began to seriously consider the advantages of such a protector all the way up to the capital. Not the life of luxury I had envisioned for myself, but perhaps a lot more realistic.

* * *

 _A seamstress' assistant often had the chance to climb up to the nice side of town, even if never belonging. Nevertheless, Sira clung to every word she heard, trying to appropriate the cadence of their speech, making mental notes about the way some vowels would be elongated, while each syllable caressed._

 _Once, half out of a bet with herself, she took the circlet of her childish fantasies and wore it around alongside a "borrowed" dress from her boss. She hoped to attract admiration and love, but only ended up feeling bony, wide, and shapeless. However, after a few moments she noticed the way doors would open and fellow smallfolk would step aside to let her pass._

 _That is, until Alivar decided to compliment her "delicately enchanted circlet". The altmer carried himself with a poise that seemed beyond his modest mage novice robes and spoke with elegant terms like "aurora borealis" and "stamina enchantments". He promised to teach her some restoration magic and pretended to believe Sira's clearly fake origins. He was also the one who probably got Emilia back on Skooma, but of all things, Sira was never mad about that. The illusion of beauty was just as addictive._

* * *

On the morning of the third day, I finally departed to Whiterun. I made a quick stop at the Riverwood trader's, intending to buy a small sweet roll for Dorthee, only to find a truly stunning woman having a very heated argument with the trader. Apparently it was about the stolen goods Sigrid had told me about – a golden claw taken by bandits who had set up camp at Bleak Falls Barrows, a nightmare-worthy burial site where the beautiful Camilla was banned from going.

No wonder this woman was at the center of a love triangle. She embodied all the grace and diplomatic strength that was supposedly inherent to Imperial women, even if she was just a trader in a small hamlet. If anyone could out me as dockside bastard trash, it was her, so I kept conversation to a minimum.

The landscape on the way to Whiterun was bright and calm. The smoke and chaos of Helgen felt like centuries ago, as I climbed a soft hill and picked a couple of mountain flowers. The air was crisp and clear to the point of cliche, and an elk crossed my path literally begging to be caught and pelted. For a second, I let myself imagine a quiet life, living off the land in an honest way alongside a faceless burly and kind man. No more stealing or using myself as a bribe in an overcrowded city: just hunt, trek, chop wood, all those quaint things country folk do.

Some things are better off kept as fantasy. The road turned downhill, and I could already see the farms and stables that announced Whiterun. Roars and screams reminded of the dangers of country life. I left the road and went down the steeper side of the hill, hiding behind some rocks, only to find a brutal fight between two people and a giant. A GIANT.

Curiosity got the better of me and I began approaching slowly, just marveled at the scene. A woman with a bow and a dagger jumped around quicker than I had ever seen anyone, letting loose arrows as if powered by a Dwemer machine. The guy beside her, dark hair over near-pearl skin, was the stereotypical Nord, tall and muscular and throwing a greatsword around as if it were a lockpick.

The giant seemed to be approaching its end, but of course, that damn will to survive! It managed to throw the woman to the ground, who let go of her dagger in order to break the fall. She wasted no time getting back on her feet, but the giant's fist was already hammering over her. Out of instinct, I jumped sword held high and stuck it through its eye, while I used my shield to push its arm just enough for it to fall on solid floor. The giant just laid there, dead, as it must after having sharp metal slicing through its brain. The woman only took a second to catch her breath before introducing herself as Aela.

"You handled yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Sister"

"I don't have any siblings" I said, confused. The big man just laughed at the back.

"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honour. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."

"That sounds like a proper occupation." Fighting for coin _did_ sound more lucrative than the Legion, and infinitely more interesting than just being a Legionnaire's woman. Mostly though, I wanted to shush the other guy, who I sensed was mocking me.

"You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck."

"Thanks. I might do just that" I wiped my sword in the grass and began walking down the road, leaving the two giant slayers to their banter. I was little more than a courier at the moment, but I envied them, their siblings and their well-protected backs.


	6. A pillow to call my own

Less than an hour later, I faced Whiterun's closed gates. What was I supposed to do? I tried waiting next to a Khajiit caravan for the Companions I'd met earlier, hoping to simply tag along, but after another hour it became clear that they were already inside or gone to chase another giant. Lunch time had passed and my stomach was rumbling fiercely, so no more lollygagging would do.

Sigrid had already told me a bit about Skyrim etiquette – unlike Cyrodiil, it seemed you could approach a Jarl without an official letter of introduction or a steward to make arrangements on your behalf – so surely I wouldn't need much to get some guards to let me pass? I sighed and tried to summon my most authoritative Imperial demeanor possible.

"I'm here to speak to the Jarl."

"Well tough luck, miss. The city is closed. Nobody goes in, nobody comes out, not until we know more about those dragon rumours" Said the guard on the left, a bit more meanly than I hoped for.

"I believe I wasn't clear enough before. I'm here to speak to the Jarl _about_ the dragon attacks. I was at Helgen." The guard on the right nudged his colleague. There must always be a smart guard and a stupid guard, apparently.

"Well, come in. Go straight into the central market, then up the stairs to find Dragonsreach."

Right then, that wasn't so hard. Boldened by my success, I sprinted my way into the massive white palace, ignored the protests of two more guards at the gate, and made my way to the long hall. I kneeled down in front of the Jarl, only to be sneered at by some elf bodyguard – I'm sorry, _housecarl_. My confidence suddenly disappeared all over again.

I stumbled and stuttered across my story, not even caring that I was interrupting an advisor. On Alvor's behalf, I pleaded for him to send guards to help Riverwood. As I retold what had happened at Helgen, flashes of horror returned to my mind and my eyes began to sting. The unexpected appearance of the elf's hand helped me up again, and I realised that kneeling had not been expected. I braced myself for more snorts, but instead I was congratulated.

"You took it upon yourself to come all the way here and ask for help?" Should I have mentioned that it was Alvor who sent me? History will absolve me, I'm sure. "Now, there's another thing you could do for me, that may end up being instrumental to fight these dragons. Farengar, my court wizard, is not here, but you'll have to speak to him as soon as he comes back. In the meantime, here's a small token of appreciation and some funds so you can stay in the Drunken Huntsman until he does. I'll send for you."

As much as I hate speaking in public, if there's gold and a free armour to be gained, it's certainly a skill to be honed. My tears and shaking had served a purpose, I thought, as I took my leave. Once back on the city, I strolled around the market stalls looking for bread and cheese. The 40 septims the Jarl's advisor gave me would barely pay for 4 days at that inn, unless…

The food vendor was kind enough to tell me how to get to Jorrvaskr, and didn't even realise I took the bread for free. Given that the building is a capsized ship in the middle of a plain, it wasn't easy to miss.

I walked into its warm mead hall, and my chest fluttered with the smell of freshly baked rolls and succulent steaks. A Nord woman was fighting a Dunmer right behind a large table, surrounded by cheers and bets. I would've put money on the woman, but instead chose to go looking for Aela. No need to make enemies before knowing if they'd let me in – they looked like a fierce bunch.

Aela greeted me with a side smile – would she always look like she's laughing at a secret joke? – and pointed at the Harbinger's studio. The big guy from before didn't seem to recognise me and seemed to have grown larger – but that's because it was a different man. Embarrassing.

"Do all Nords look the same to you, little Imperial? Or just twins?" He jested, and ruffled my hair. "Just go knock on that door, and good luck!"

I'm not used to being called little – my problem has always been being too big – but at least this one shared the joke. His laughter seemed wholesome somehow, which is a weird quality for a man who cracks skulls for a living.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I was still in time to just head out, maybe grab a boiled cream treat on the way out, and rent a bed. Nah, Aela herself said I could join… unless that was part of the joke? My feet led me to the Harbinger's studio out of their own volition, it seemed, and before I noticed I was right in front of a wise-looking white-haired old man (that'd be Kodlak Whitemane, obviously) and the not-so-big guy from before. Too late to run now, so unless Whitemane decided right away that I wasn't worth the trouble… oh no, he didn't. Instead, he chose to follow _evidence_ and get Small Twin to test me outside.

Small Twin's name was Vilkas, and he didn't think I was worth the trouble. I've been slighted and assumed faulty my entire life, and I did not come to Skyrim for that. If I hadn't had the impulse to prove him wrong, I probably would've snuck out on the way to the training yard – but I couldn't just let him win without being properly defeated. Hadvar would've been proud of me, I'm sure – If he would still find me lovely after Vilkas was done with me.

The rules were simple: to go at each other in front of all the other companions, who were still bloodthirsty from the brawl from half an hour ago. No magic tricks, spells, or weapons: I had but two minor health potions left from Helgen, but surely he would not try to kill me for real? Among the audience, I noticed the brawling girl from earlier, who still had blood coming out of her eyebrow. She frowned at me. The blond guy beside her made a "cheers" gesture. No option but to get this over with.

Vilkas held a sword and a shield three times the size of my head. If I wanted a chance, I needed to stay well away from it. I grabbed my swords and got on guard just when we were given the signal. He tried a swing at me, and I dodged. I made the gesture of advancing towards him twice, but each time I found his shield automatically in position. He tried striking at me again, but my legs were always faster.

We kept circling at each other, almost dancing, until my resolve began to falter.

If there's something I learnt getting rid of horny sailors and hungry thugs in my childhood's back alleys, was to _never_ show my back to an attacker. However, this was no back alley and he was too honourable to grope my butt – although not necessarily so to break my spine. Only one way to find out.

I moved my right leg forward, expecting him to immediately cover his left. Instead of striking right away or stepping back, I quickly gave a full, 360° degree turn – well, twirl – to my right, landing right next to his unprotected right side. Supported by the momentum of my twirl, I was able to hit him violently with each hand. It took him less than three seconds to move his shield and strike back. The force of his blow made me let go of my left sword, so I just grabbed the right one with both hands and aimed for his legs twice, before getting him on the left arm. Just as Kodlak called for an end to the demonstration, he shoved his shield towards me and left me lying on the floor.

Big Twin immediately held his hand to get me up. I dusted myself off, checked my face for blood, and looked for my swords, which were dishonourably lying on the ground.

"Looks like the new blood has nerve, at the very least." Vilkas said "My brother will show you where the whelps sleep later. Meanwhile, go take my sword to have it sharpened." I couldn't help but grin. I did not spend 4 years as a seamstress' apprentice not to know that being the errands girl meant I was in.

"Right away, sir" I replied, as turned left to take his sword back to the blacksmith's, stupidly proud of already knowing she was right next to the gate. Then why was everyone suddenly laughing?

"Oy, whelp! Where are you going? The Skyforge is over there, up the stairs" He said, pointing right.

"I don't understand why you're letting her in?" The brawler said, as the crowd dispersed.


	7. The most valuable lessons

By the time I finished with the day's errands, it was too late to fetch a courier. Alvor and Sigrid had no reason to worry about me, but I still felt I owed them a heads up that their task had been fulfilled. Hadvar, on the other hand, would be expecting me for more sparring lessons, and I felt a pang of guilt at thinking I had just found new instructors.

The morning after, I scribbled a quick note for them:

 _"Dear everyone:_

 _Jarl Balgruuf is very thankful for Alvor's message. Guards should be on their way now. I have been asked to remain in town for a couple more days, as there's something the court mage needs done regarding the dragons. Say hi to Dorthee._

 _Thanks for everything, see you soon._

 _Sira"_

My tasks as errand girl were every bit as menial as I had expected, but not particularly physically imposing. Fetch a shield for Aela. Have some daggers cleaned. Arrange for more wine. The training I was expected to follow in between errands, on the other hand, was every bit as grueling as it could be. The Companions had not stayed in business for over a thousand years by allowing their whelps to keep a single drop of sweat for themselves.

It was, however, an opportunity not to be missed, and I was immensely proud of having been admitted – far prouder than of anything else, ever, even if I wouldn't admit it. So during the next three days, I gave myself into it, working my muscles so they'd be up to the standards demanded of my already quick reflexes. Each night, I would go to bed so sore and tired to have to plan the quickest way to drag myself into bed, and the following morning I'd need to rub my legs before they would respond to my mind. It would've reminded me of my childhood misery, if it weren't for the deep thrill I would get at every compliment.

The library at Jorrvaskr was equally impressive, although I wasn't particularly interested in reading. I'd never had any books as a child, and nobody on my alley had much beyond "The Lusty Argonian Maid", but the sight of shelves full of tomes was something I expected only of palaces. On my second night, right after supper, I escaped the table (Torvar's and Njada's sarcastic bickering wasn't as funny as they thought), and went down into the living quarters, just staring at the shelves right outside Kodlak's office.

No pretty tales to be found on this one. The titles all suggested higher knowledge and pursuits: accounts of past explorers, manuals, biographies of great heroes. It was a weird feeling to have so much knowledge just staring at my fingertips, if only I knew where to begin looking… and in any case, was I looking for anything?

"Going to take your pick already?" I heard Athis say behind me. I flushed and grabbed the first tome I could, _Nord pharmacopeia_.

"Sure. There you go, take all the others if you want."

"I may as well, for all the attention most people pay to them. Didn't take you for an alchemist."

"Oh" I quickly saw the cover of the book I'd taken. "I am no alchemist. That's a big word. I can mix some blue mountain flowers with wheat or butterfly wings to heal myself. I'll have to learn something better if I don't want to pawn my own skin to Arcadia."

"Can't argue with that goal, to save a few septims. In Morrowind, any housewife can do what Arcadia sells. Try adding charred skeever and giant's toe to the flowers, kid, and make sure you return the book where you found it."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry – I mean, thanks."

"Was that so hard? Now, I left some pages there marked, with cheap ingredients to restore stamina. I've seen you fight, and you'll need them."

"I thought that was mostly needed when you're carrying massive hammers around." For someone who rarely seemed in a good disposition, may as well milk the opportunity as much as possible.

"Ah, the huge hammers. The locals are very fond of those." He chuckled. "A small sword can be even more lethal if you're fast enough, but you're not yet. And you should work to waste less energy on unnecessary botched blows – they'll get you killed. In the meantime, try trotting around less when they send you to errands, and do proper sprints."

"Full on?"

"As fast as you can, for 30 seconds. That's where your advantage should be."

"Wait, let me get some parchment for notes"

"Funny." He did look vaguely amused, but he clearly wasn't the roaring laughter type.

"Couldn't resist."

"You're all right, kiddo – you read and that makes three of us, other than Kodlak, but now you're interfering with _my_ reading."

"Very well. Thank you, and good bye."

I really should've written down those ingredients he gave me. For an overly-defensive, bitter elf, Athis was OK.

There was not a lot of time to settle, as just two days after that, I was taken away from breakfast for the jarl's summons. Quite inconvenient, as my training was just gathering momentum, but I was secretly relieved at what seemed to be a "rest day". I mean, how hard could it be to fetch a stone from a grave?

If I'd asked, I bet Farengar, the court mage, would've mentioned the potential draugrs, skeevers, frostbite spiders, and general confusion expected inside Bleak Falls Barrow, but he didn't seem to care for people in general and I didn't care for looking like an ignorant foreigner. So as far as I was concerned, there was nothing to fear there beyond the bandits who had taken Lucan's golden claw, and the pull of _that_ reward was stronger than the potential risk.

As an extra perk, I finally had the opportunity to go back to Riverwood. As I walked down their main road, Hadvar spotted me from his station on the gallery.

"There's the missing lady!" He hollered and got up from his chair, which apparently he was already able to do, even if slowly.

"Divines, Hadvar, you look so much better! I've missed you, I feel I have so much to tell you." I went straight for the hug.

"Then hurry, because the way it's going, I should be carted off to Solitude in four more days."

"Oh, where to start? The Jarl thinks I'm brave, so now he sends me on errands. I helped the Companions slay a giant so they invited me over to Jorrvaskr. Now I have the honour of being their newest whelp, and I'm learning so much! One of them is a Dunmer who taught me some Alchemy because Arcadia's potions are so expensive. There's also a couple of scary looking twins. One of them is nice, the other one is smart. And an incredibly quick, lethal hunter called Aela, she's the one who was with the giant, I bet you'd fancy her."

"Wait, slow down. You're a Companion now? That's incredible, Sira – but 4 days ago you were no warrior!"

Yes, I'm ignoring that frown you don't realise you've made. I'm also ignoring the unpleasant chill your frown is giving me.

"Well, fine, the façade's dropped. Worse things have happened."

"What about the Jarl's errands?"

"Oh, yes, that's why I'm here. His mage wants me up in Bleak Falls Barrow to retrieve a stone that has something to do with dragons. Figured I would stop by and visit on the way."

"Bleak Falls Barrow? By yourself? That place used to give me nightmares as a child." He grabbed my arm just a notch above a friendly squeeze – almost getting to anxious clutch.

"Well, already told the Jarl I would, I'm not about to back down. Don't have enough rank with the companions to get a Shield-brother as tag-along yet, nor enough coin to hire a mercenary. I'm sure I'll handle it."

Only about half the confidence I was showing was fake. The other half was seasoned by a desire to impress and my inability to deal with the fact that he looked unhappy at the fact I'd joined Companions.

"What about Faendal? The hunter."

"The Bosmer leg to the torrid Valerius triangle? Sure, he'll do it for free if it means impressing Valeria".

"Well, excellent. Let's get Dorthee to fetch him. I'll talk him into it."

* * *

 _It was thanks to Alivar that Sira learned how to make a decent healing charm, how to behave at a dinner table like anything more than a barbarian, and the real value of her circlet. However, the most important lesson he left her with was the art of deceit. A lowborn 18 year old may be too inexperienced to lie convincingly, but Alivar had lived at least 4 times as much (even if he didn't look so)._

 _When he found her by the door of the Count's Arms, he saw through her unpolished walk in less than ten seconds. Nevertheless, he lied, fed her vanity, and praised her superior intelligence before offering himself to tutor her the in arcane arts. He invested several evening buying her colovian brandy after their lessons, and dropping casual compliments right before casually asking her about her circlet or her living arrangements. Since he would get nothing but lies, he pretended to believe them and simply had her followed._

 _Not interested in teaching her anything beyond flames and sparks, he sought a more aggressive way to gain her trust: he bedded her and told her he was in love. Whatever little restraint she'd had in Alivar as a "tutor" disappeared once he turned suitor: she wanted to believe herself special, and quickly became too enraptured with him to question anything. To finish pushing her over the edge, he placed a small bottle of Skooma in Emilia's pocket, sending her straight into her moon dreams._

 _Under Alivar's plans, Emilia was meant to end up back in the whorehouse, giving Sira the perfect mental state in which to entrust him with her possessions. Emilia didn't make it that far, though: driven violent and incoherent by her abstinence syndrome, she got herself mauled to death by a Khajiit trader after trying to rob him of the Skooma he_ wasn _'t dealing. When Sira showed up at his inn, red-eyed and shaky, to give him the news, he saw a much simpler opportunity and offered to buy her circlet straight ahead._

 _Even the best make mistakes, and Alivar had made a huge one: by then, Sira had seen enough of the nice side of town to know copper and moonstone couldn't be worth that much. Suddenly, his sweetness and attentions made sense, as did the faint, ethereal glow the circlet had and the inhuman confidence it gave the wearer. If her innocence was killed that instant, her need for food didn't let her mourn it._

 _She immediately agreed to give Alivar the circlet in exchange for almost 300 septims. She told him to follow her to her alley, handed it over, took her money in her pocket, and before he made the pretense of plans for their next encounter, Sira dug a poisoned dagger right between his ribs._

 _Canis, Imp Stool and Mora Tapinella: the most valuable lesson he left her, she thought._


	8. Whispers of death and mead

I'll admit it: I don't like to think of Alivar. It's been nearly ten years, and I haven't been able to tell anyone I've met since about him. He was the first of my three shames – and I'll be dead before I let anyone from my new life in Skyrim to learn of those. Still, the knowledge he left me with has saved my life enough times already, and at least now I can perform a healing spell without immediately seeing his face before me.

I'll admit this as well: as painful as the memories are, I can't help but to dwell on them whenever confronted with elves and lovesick puppies – and Faendal was both. He'd agreed to come with me to Bleak Falls Barrow and aid me confront the bandits stationed there – so I could fulfil Farengar's assignment more easily. He had an extra motive, of course: to impress a sight in Skyrim of unmatched beauty – no, this is not a pang of jealousy over the fact that nobody's ever offered to step inside a cave full of bandits to please me. For once, the unapologetic display of love was endearing, even if it did trigger the wrong memories.

He showed me a couple of archery tricks on the way there, at least. After we'd cleared the broken tower right before the barrow and the site's entrance, we inspected every nook and cranny looking for the claw. Nothing there. The face he made after searching the last bandit was heart-breaking. We shared the loot evenly, and then he parted – I still had a stone to look for, after all.

Once inside, I lost track of time, hearing nothing but a gentle whisper that I still don't think it was my imagination. Ancient Nords clearly cared greatly about disturbing the dead – if the complicated layout of the place wasn't enough, there were also booby traps everywhere, and even a gate protected by a door puzzle. Draugrs by the dozen, too, which was nasty business, but according to Athis' notes their bonemeal makes for neat fire-resist potions.

Frostbite spiders are even nastier, and one them came so close to biting me to make me briefly reconsider my choice to use a second sword instead of a shield. At last, I found the bandit with the Valeriuses' claw, just as he was about to get eaten by a spider – and he tried to double cross me! Such nerve.

I wish I hadn't had to kill him, but as soon as he mentioned not wanting to share the loot… Oh, Alivar, you should've warned me that piercing flesh with sharp metal would be delicious. The whispering in my ear grew even stronger, and it began to feel like my reward was calling me, from inside the dungeon.

I opened the second door puzzle – the bandit had done most of the work for me there, at least. After that, a simply began running and following the whispers, which grew more aggressive with every step. They led me to the main chamber, where the dragonstone awaited me right in front of a curved wall full of ancient carvings, which seemed to emit a pale blue glow – the same one as my circlet, I could swear. As I approached the wall, the whispers turned into shrieking, the pale glow became a blinding light, and I fell to my knees.

* * *

Riverwood's torches were blinking. It must be right after supper, since most people seemed to be sitting by the fire at home or strolling close to the pub. The working day was over, and it was time to catch some refreshment, in a couple of hours everything would go dark. Life in small villages has those queer routines. I was coated in thick dust right below an even thicker layer of spider webs, so it felt just right to take a room for the night before returning the claw to Lucan and Camilla.

I didn't even make it to the inn's counter. As soon as I entered the building, I found Hadvar regaling a Sigrid, Sven, and Embry with soldiering stories. He immediately waved me over to his table, and kissed my hand as soon as I approached.

"My sweet, sweet nordic imperial" He was slurring enough to excuse the sudden, very public, familiarity. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick."

"Easy there with the anxiety, grandma. And I go by _whelp_ nowadays, I told you." Embry chose that moment to pass out on the table with a loud thump, which we ignored.

"There's little else to do around here. I will worry as much as I please, and you will mock me. How was the adventure?"

"It was excellent. Got two pieces of treasure for the price of one quest. But don't let me interrupt you, you guys were clearly in the middle of a story"

"Nonsense, no interruption, you sit right here!" He dragged a chair in between his own and Sigrid's. I quickly glanced at her apologetically, as if asking for permission. She nodded, seemingly giving it.

"Sira, I suppose you won't get back until tomorrow?" She asked as she handed me a mug.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's too late to bang on the Valerius door now, right?" I replied.

"Nobody bang on Camilla's door! I will duel whoever does!" Sven hollered, flushed.

"Easy there! This Nordic imperial has fought countless draugrs and a dragon just this week. She'll win any duel"

"No duelling. Also, you're telling people now we fought that dragon? Really? How long have you been drinking?"

Sigrid giggled, suddenly looking much younger than she was. "Oh, I only came to join them an hour ago – but these three have been hitting the Honningbrew since lunchtime. No surprises on Embry's side, I suppose."

"Hey, I'm not drunk! Sven should be sent home, don't you think so, aunt?" Oh, subtle work, Hadvar.

"Oh, but I was just about to tell you all about how Faendal saved my life twice today!" I hit gold with that one – Sven abruptly stood up and announced he needed to guard Valeria's doorstep.

"I'll take that as my cue to leave as well. Please, Sira, don't bother with a room here, and bring Hadvar home as soon as you're…done."

"I'm fine, aunt!"

"Nobody's saying you're not. But you still need support. For your leg." I intervened.

"Listen to the girl, Hadvar, she'll teach you a lesson or two about subtlety. I'll see you two soon." Sigrid gave us each a kiss on the cheek before leaving. She could've taught the High King a lesson on diplomacy, I thought, as I was left alone with Hadvar. We stayed at the inn for over an hour, him telling me more stories about his beginning in the Legion, me giving him the details about the Bleak Falls and the Companions. We continued talking as we walked slowly back home, with his arm around my shoulder.

"You are a witty, wicked creature." He said, laughing, after hearing how I'd managed to hit "the smart twin" on my trial.  
"Thank you, sir. So kind of you to notice." Mock-curtsey right on cue. It was becoming my thing.

"I should start being careful around you. You're risky business, beating up Companions and slaying bandits"

"Oh, please! You're safe from me. Not an exception I grant easily, you'll see."

"I certainly hope you don't grant _these_ exceptions too often." And with that, he planted a kiss right on my lips.

Damned be the mead, which I could taste in both of our breaths. It left me no choice but to kiss him back. His kiss was a bit sloppy, but I deepened it anyway, circling his neck with my arms, relishing in the feeling of warm refuge he was giving me. He had me grabbed firmly by the waist, which was by all means promising – until he abruptly stopped. He started stroking my left cheek with his thumb and gave me a peck in the forehead, which said too much of the wrong kind of affection.

"My sweet adventurer. What will I do without you next week?"

"You're a strong, tough soldier. You'll manage." I nibbled his neck softly, but he moved away from it.

"I wish we didn't have to say goodbye so soon."

"Shhh! Now's not the time for that. We still have 4 days until you leave."

"But tomorrow you go back to the Companions."

"I can postpone that."

"But you'll stay with them." How can he sound so upset while looking so enraptured?

"Don't you think I should?"

"You were supposed to come with me to Solitude. Where I could make sure you're safe."

Wait, what? I thought I was a dangerous warrior? What's wrong with this man?

"I can keep myself safe!"

"Right, of course you can. And I suppose it's a privilege, to be a Companion."

Right, nothing but the ramble of excessive mead. And yet he keeps his distance.

"Yes, it's a unique chance to be trained by the very best and make some serious coin, if that's what you mean. And as soon as I'm good enough, I'll go to General Tullius and look you up."

"Train hard, then. I'll be waiting."

"Oh, I will. I'm sure you'll find plenty to keep you entertained until then."

"Right, like the memories from the loveliest friend I've ever had"

"Don't say that. I may believe you."

"Believe what you will. You are, and I'll be waiting. I promise." No, no, don't say that, Hadvar. This is more than I'm willing to promise.

"We still have four days before we need to make any sad promises. And I'm still full of Barrow dust. Should we go to the river?" I pulled him closer, hoping that would win over any reserve he had.

"You go if you want. I… you leave tomorrow."

My smile froze completely.

"Yes, I do. If that's the problem, just say it. Just tell me what you want."

"I'm sorry, I should not have started anything." With that, he kissed my hand again and immediately stepped back, his sudden distance feeling very final.

* * *

The next morning, I still couldn't make sense of his behaviour, so all that was left was to deal with the shame of rejection (because that's what it was, right?) in private. I sped off very quickly to the Riverwood Trader's, eager to return the golden claw and leave the town behind.


	9. Then prove it

I got back to Whiterun just as the market stalls finished opening up. I was trying very hard to stop thinking about Hadvar, so of course, he would show up everywhere. I tried to distract myself by picking up every possible flower and butterfly I came across. I must have looked like a frolicking child rather than an aspiring Companion, although I did not feel girly or innocent at all. Maybe that had been it? Lying about my age? Had I played my "innocent respectable young lady" part a bit too convincingly? Was that why Hadvar had insisted on a "making sure I was safe"?

Or maybe it was just an excuse because, let's face it, physically-imposing handsome soldiers get all the attention in such little villages, where they can pass off as worldly? Back home, no doubt he would not have thought me as ladylike as he did – as he said he did, at least! So what if he had rejected me? Had he really rejected me? He had wanted to make _me_ promise to drop everything and follow him to Frozen Solitude.

As soon as I walked through the doors of Jorrvaskr, I dropped my things on the dresser next to my bunk, and began training my one-arm skills with fury. Ria was already there with Aela, doing beautiful things with a dagger. Apparently they had expected me a day sooner, which was… a strangely sweet thing to hear. Having never had a proper family home, I'm not used to hear of people welcoming me or waiting for me. Silly things that throw me off guard. Kind of like when Hadvar would hold my hand to help me up stairs. No, not like that. No!

I smiled at them and started hitting one of the dummies as if it had stolen my coin purse – and then some more. I know it sounds silly to be so upset over a man you've known less than two weeks, but call me conceited if you want: I'm not used to being refused. If he had taken me right there, and then refused to greet me the morning after, I would not have cared half as much – regular man behaviour towards presumed dock harlots, as far as I'm concerned. But to kiss me and then leave because of "tomorrow"? Tomorrow we all get killed by that black dragon.

Fortunately, this weird capsized ship was beginning to feel like home. I began understanding the hall's inside jokes, putting some coin when the brawls were on, congratulating and envying each other's success. I won my first nickname ( _baby whelp_ ), got my first set of leather armour fitted, was sent on minor jobs.

One evening, four days after returning, Skjor entered the whelp's dormitory and strode towards my bed.

"So, baby whelp? Your time, it seems, has come. Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honour of the Companions demands that we seek it out."

"Honour. Right. Of course. So I'm going, yes?"

"A smart one." Does this man ever smile? "It will be your Trial. Carry yourself with honor, and you'll become a true Companion. Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He'll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint. Or to get him killed. Meet him upstairs at first light tomorrow, as it's quite a trek from here."

"Right, I'll be there, sir"

"Don't call me that. This isn't the legion. And what on earth is that big stone there? Been exploring tombs, baby whelp?" He pointed at the Dragonstone, which I'd forgotten about.

"Oh, that, damn, that's the Jarl's. His mage told me to go seek it, I need to bring it to him."

"You should do that on the way back tomorrow. It's no good to forget assignments from a Jarl, even if they are for _mages_." The local distrust for magic, again. "Stendarr knows why that strange man wants a dusty stone…"

* * *

By the time Farkas finished telling me what _a Wuuthrad_ was and why it was worth retrieving, we were way past the last farm, energetically trekking down the plains. For such a large man carrying a massive set of heavy armour, Farkas was remarkably fast, although the length of his arms and the width of his chest gave him an air of brutality that he seemed to embrace.

Unlike Hadvar, who tried to compensate for his obvious strength with soft gestures and a mellow voice, Farkas was rough-spoken and unapologetic – but quick to hug, quicker to laugh, and almost always smiling. If something happened and it came to sprinting for our lives, his much larger legs would see him to safety sooner, but I knew he wouldn't leave me. Heh. What a strange comfort.

"So how come you and your brother ended up Companions? Ria told me you were the youngest members in history."

"Did she? I did not know that. My brother's the one who likes history. You should ask him."

"How old were you?"

"When I became a companion? 23. Ten years ago, flying by. But we'd always been at Jorrvaskr, it's all I can remember."

"And I thought two months as a whelp would be too much!"

"Hahahaha but you didn't even do two weeks!"

"So where you born at Jorrvaskr? Was your mother a Companion?"

"Well, no. Mam and da' passed away, but I can't remember them. Then we got taken in by this group of dark mages. Jergen, he was a Companion too back then, he got rid of the necromancers and brought us home to Jorrvaskr. He got killed by a gang of spriggans a couple of years after that, but Kodlak kept us around. He's been great to us, like a father, really." There was a strange calmness to the way he told that story – clearly he wasn't greatly troubled by it. Nonetheless, it was a shocking tale.

"Wow. I'm really sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Turned out well in the end, didn't it? We could've ended up Thieves Guild or worse. Instead, we got a warm home, and now a honourable profession."

His optimism was as wholesome as his laughter, to be sure. We kept walking for a few more miles in relative silence, as we were approaching giant territory and it was best not to disturb them. Eventually, we left the plains and began approaching the hills, and he decided it was safe to chat again.

"Silly question."

"Ask away" I said, thinking it was only fair he'd ask about my childhood. I was ready to lie.

"Someone made you angry while you were doing the Jarl's bidding. Who was it?"

I looked up at him, startled.

"Where did you get that from?"

"You came back ready to destroy our dummies. I may be the ice-brain twin, but I know rage. So this person…"

"Man. From Riverwood."

"Is he why you're in Skyrim?"

"Oh, no. I met him here."

"What happened? And yes, I know I'm being nosy."

"Well, so long as you know…he did nothing – it was more about he wouldn't do. He was full of sweet words and gentlemanly gestures, but when it had to count for something, nothing. One day he's full of compliments over my sword skills, the other one he's upset or scared or I don't-know-what that I joined to Companions, worried about who'll _protect_ me. I got angry. It's no big deal." It felt good to vent, even if in the vaguest terms possible.

"Sounds like the _boy_ can't make up his mind. And he's jealous."

Farkas looked around, scratching around. Neither the choice of words nor the inflection went unnoticed.

"You can say that, yes."

"But you're thinking about him."

"I'm not about to leave and run off with him."

"Good. Because then you'd be wasting our time with this whole Trial, but you don't look like the type. You're still a whelp, and a foreign one too, nobody knows much about you. We all want to know what kind of warrior you are. The way I see it, what you say doesn't matter, it's what you do that counts. Like with that boy: if he values you, he must prove it. If you're too much for that boy, then prove it, and if you're strong enough to get a spot with the Companions, then prove it and get the fragment of Wuuthrad."

I briefly wondered how long he had prepared that speech, or at least part of it. Then I realised he had hit two key points there: first, Hadvar clearly had unresolved issues with the idea of women protecting themselves – and had a strong tendency towards "all-or-nothing" deals; and second, I'd grossly misused my opportunity with him at making a new identity. Set on painting myself as a sweet noble girl in unfortunate circumstances, I had been unable to play my part convincingly as well. Not a mistake I'll make again.

"Farkas?"

"Yes, little whelp?"

"Next time someone calls you ice-brain, I'll hold them down while you hit them. And don't you dare believe them."

He smiled.

"Fair dos, little whelp. Now, we're less than half an hour away, you may want to have your shield ready."

* * *

 _Sira's actions included three shames. Alivar had been the first, but she had excused it as revenge for her broken heart._

 _What had happened to Restita, on the other hand, was harder to excuse. A fellow apprentice at the seamstress' workshop, Restita was clearly soon to be made her superior – partly thanks to her liaison with a local married aristocrat, who began commissioning extravagant suits through her. Sira felt more deserving of any promotion and needed the extra money more._

 _The opportunity to bring her down presented itself without even looking for it: as she measured a new gown for that man's wife, Sira casually complimented her exquisite perfume – and then mentioned how Restita's new "patron" had just bought her a whole bottle. Some nights, Sira still woke up drenched in cold sweat, wondering if Restita realised who sold her out before the hired thugs shoved her into the ocean._

* * *

I came to Skyrim looking for a new life. Granted, the original plan for that burned alongside Helgen – but I was still getting a chance at a clean slate. Once inside the Cairn, I set out to prove it all. I slayed each one of my shames with each draugr I ripped apart, determined for once to prove myself to be whatever it is I wanted to be .

Rather than joking about feats of bravado, I became one, jumping first on every room, sneaking up on every enemy we encountered. Instead of pretending to be a trustworthy partner, after I locked myself in that cage, I stood my ground, looked at the werewolf defending me in the eye, and sent a healing spell his way. I proved my agility in front of a frostbite spider and my ruthlessness with all the Silver Hands we slayed.

At last, we arrived at the deepest chamber to pick up the fragment. The strange whisperings from Bleak Falls Barrow returned. It felt wrong to simply grab the fragment and leave. Farkas noticed my reluctance and nodded, saying I deserved the honor. I staggered up the stairs towards the altar, taking the piece almost as an afterthought – the wall right behind was calling me. The blinding blue light engulfed me once again, and I woke up inside a tent.

That was really nice of Farkas, to get me out and set up a tent while I regained consciousness. Embarrassing, too.

"Ah, you're awake at last. Feeling up to the trip back home?" He said, nonchalantly.

"Yes. But what happened? The lights... how come they didn't affect you?"

"It's not me they trapped."

"They trapped me?"

"I think… I don't know. You suddenly went into this trance, tripped on your way to that wall"

"Yeah, that I remember. It's the whispers from Bleak Falls, it was the same all over again."

"What whispers? This had happened to you before? Are you serious? Anyway, you got all stuck in front of the wall and these blue lights came out the carvings, and into you somehow… I'm not sure what I saw, really."

"It had happened once, when I was getting that stone for the Jarl's mage. It doesn't matter, really, maybe fatigue?"

"Sure, baby whelp. Fatigue. We all have our secrets, I guess." What secret was mine though? That I faint in front of walls?

"Well, I didn't want to bring this up, but you're a werewolf. What's up with that? Anyone else knows? Is it a Companions thing?"

"No. But it's a Circle thing. It is a secret to everyone, though." I'd heard about the Circle already, the high-ranking members who acted as Kodlak's personal advisors.

"Well, I won't tell anyone. Explains the wolfish grin."

He chuckled.

"Thanks. For healing me, too. Silver swords are a problem. We should get back to Whiterun – we'll have something nice to celebrate you, you'll see." He seemed excited over it – clearly much warmer than his brother.

Stamina restored and all, we basically jogged all the way back to the city. I could see Farkas was happy that I had passed the test – or perhaps just relieved that I wasn't horrified at his lycanthropy. We sped past the gates and sprinted all the way up to the Gildergreen. Panting, I stopped.

"Ok, you win! Let me breathe, please. I still need to drop the Farengar's stone at Dragonsreach first."

"Ha! I keep telling Athis, there's more to speed than toothpicks and leather smallclothes. You think it will take long? I'll wait here, if you want."

"No, I don't think so. I'll just hand it over and collect my gold. Farengar's not a chatty type."

There, another unfulfilled promise. I ended up making Farkas wait way more that I should've – although it was completely not my fault. I was just done pocketing my money when the jarl's very own housecarl, a springy looking Dunmer called Irileth, barged into Farengar's studio with news of a dragon.

I had no chance to escape, say no, or stop by some potions. It was decided – under a rather ridiculous reasoning, if you ask me – that I was the closest thing to a dragon expert the city had. I was promised the city's gratitude, for which I cared little. I wanted to run to Riverwood and ask Hadvar to take me with him anywhere, so long as I'd be safe from the monster perched atop the Western Watchtower.

I barely had time to register Farkas's strange expression as he saw me ran down the stairs into the Plains District. I could feel all eyes on me, the only one in the party not wearing Whiterun's uniform. I would never live out the shame of running away, I realised. I would lose the respect of the Companions and the market folk and everyone. Was this pride worth dying for? Was this what dying with honour was supposed to mean?


	10. The roar inside my chest

I wasn't the only one to arrive at the Watchtower panting and shaking with fear. The tension could be sliced with a knife – we were all repressing whimpers of anguish, knowing fully well the first one to give in to panic would cause everybody else to flee. The half-broken tower's roof was ablaze, and as I sped up inside along two other guards, ready to start showering it with arrows, I smelled Helgen all over again.

I had to be strong. Someone would panic and allow everyone else to do the same, but it would not be me. Below the tower, Irileth and the other guards stood ready to slice the evil thing to pieces. It felt like an eternity before the dragon landed right in front of my window and stared at me. The guards beside me ducked for cover, but I remained frozen, scarcely 3 feet away from its jaws. I lost my aim and simply let the arrow loose, which landed inside its mouth.

The dragon shrieked so loudly that it sent me tumbling backwards. As far as I'm concerned, I fainted right there, and everything afterwards was a collective hallucination I had no part in.

The dragon's shriek had been a dare, I knew it¸ so I ran down the stairs and went to meet it. Fire rained briefly over the tower again, just as I stood behind the dragon ready to meet its challenge.

Alivar had taught me to focus on my internal fire and shoot it from my hand. I could not answer fire with fire, but I could think of Ice. Cold blades, like the one I'd stuck on his back. Cold like Skyrim's crypts and Emilia's hands when they found her mauled body.

"Oy! Dragon! Come kill me! " The dragon turned around and met a blast of ice from my hands. It must've only lasted half a minute, but it was enough to make it pause. Bloodlust took over, so I unsheathed my swords and began to cut all over its throat and neck – where the scales are softer, it seems. I HAD to kill it, to keep cutting, to make sure it died, to prove to Hadvar I didn't need him, to meet the dare. I was so out of my head, I didn't notice the dragon had stopped moving, and thought it was still attacking me when it really was setting itself ablaze.

The feeling I had when I stared at its empty skeleton was… like the strongest, most violent orgasm of my life. Then the lights emerged from it and surrounded me, and I stopped caring about all the witnesses thinking I was craven – I cried. I didn't weep quietly, the way nice girls do when they miss someone: I shrieked and threw a tantrum, rocking myself on the ground and trying to tear my own hair out. Something inside my chest was trying to kill me, or everyone else, and I had to kill something that was inside me.

Next thing I noticed, Irileth's holding me down while a guard was throwing water or potions or ale on my armour. They helped me up and began staring at me, with a mix of awe and fear.

"I can't believe it! You are Dragonborn!" said one of the guards.

"What's that?"

"In the oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power… like you just did"

Was he mocking me? Or was this a real nord superstition?

"What are you talking about? I'd never heard of that tale" pitched in another guard.

"How come you've never heard of it? Talos, I mean, Tiber Septim, he was Dragonborn too" Ok, now they're arguing about their legend? I felt too angry to deal with this.

"But how can she be Dragonborn? She's not even from here." Wait, someone else saying I can't do something?

"What is it to you what I am? FUS !" I didn't even realize I had roared – just like the dragon had, really – but at least they fell quiet. I also seemed to have confirmed their suspicion, so they went back to staring at me. My anger was suddenly replaced by a strong desire to fly away. Irileth was just breaking the silence when the skies went dark and a thunderous chant was heard. ( DOVAAKIN ? Was that what it said?).

The sky talking to me, that was the last straw. I quickly put away my swords, and began running east. I think at first I truly meant to go report to the Jarl, or at least to Farengar. I vaguely remembered Farkas, waiting for me at Dragonsreach gates. I thought of Aela's smirk of disbelief if I came back to Jorrvaskr saying I had been held up by a dragon. My feet decided not to turn north at the stables and by the time I was crossing Pellagia Farm, I knew I was headed for Riverwood.

I'd lost track of the date, time, and my appearance when I banged on Alvor's window.

"Sira! What are you doing here at this hour?" Was it late, then? I could see it was dark. "Are you allright? You look… a lot like the first time we saw you."

"Is Hadvar still here? I need to see him."

"Yes, he's downstairs, but he's sleeping already. He has to leave rather early tomorrow. Maybe you want to wash up and sleep too?"

"No. I must speak to Hadvar. I'm sorry. It's urgent." I knew I was being rude and making no sense, but I was past caring. Clearly I was also being loud, because right then Hadvar appeared, looking startled. I ran to hug him.

"What's wrong, my girl? What happened to you?"

My girl didn't sound like rejection. The gamble was on.

"Come with me." I took his hand and led him outside, up the river, until I was sure there were no humans around. He followed me quietly, with only the occasional wince of pain. As soon as I found an appropriately secluded spot, I pushed him against a tree, jumped at his lips and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Woah, Sira, wait. What's gotten into you?" He said, gently holding my face.

"You said you wanted a tomorrow. I'll give you tomorrow and the day after that, and anything else you want, but you ought to give me a now first. Do you understand?"

"Does that mean you're coming to Solitude with me? Truly?"

Ugh, why couldn't he understand ?

"I'll go anywhere with you, alright? As long as it's far away from here."

I was done talking, so I resumed the kissing. The height difference seemed much smaller, all of a sudden, giving me easy reach to nibble his ears. He responded this time, nervously at first, but after just a few seconds, his hands found a comfortable spot around my hips. He began fumbling with my armour's back straps, seeking to loosen them. Fortunately for me, he was wearing rather plain clothes. His shirt was not even in the way, and his trousers fell almost of their own accord while I moved my lips down his jawline, brushing my teeth against his collarbone.

It was all too clear he was enjoying it. He could not dare reject me now. The dragon would blast him to pieces if he tried.

Meanwhile, my leather cuirass was lying on the grass, and his hands were eagerly exploring under my tunic. I was ready to throw him on the ground, but I remembered there was something wrong with his leg, so instead I began pulling him down by the hips. He got the message, and got slowly on his knees while trying to push me down by the elbows.

Something was wrong with my right arm, clearly, because I winced loudly when his fingers pressed on it. He tried apologizing, but I stifled his sweet sorries with deeper kisses and tried to push him against the grass.

"No, girl, wait. You're hurt! Why are you hurt?"

"It's fine, it's nothing."

Moonlight wasn't enough for him to notice my cuts from the Cairn and the blood all over my tunic. I pushed him back, sat on top of him, and began working his chest. I felt his erection throbbing, moist tip and all, against the lower edges of my stomach. He caressed my thighs and shuddered in pleasure while I nibbled on his nipples.

"You have the most beautiful arms I've ever seen in a man." I whispered, just as his hands began to migrate from my outer thighs to my crotch.

He gave me a tense grin, just as he shifted himself up just enough to enter me easily. I could tell from the way his chest thumped under me that we had little time left. Rejection or not, he'd been wishing for this as much as I had.

And I had no intention of delaying any longer. It was useless, despite our misplaced elbows, my brusque teeth, or his grunts. I kept thrusting, and he seemed happy enough to let me control the situation.

As he came, his eyes went round, making him look borderline scared. Or maybe he could hear the enormous wing flapping inside me? I barely acknowledged his climax, and kept rocking him until my sweet spot was finally rubbed. After my own pleasure was over, I collapsed on top of him.

At last, it was over. I was no longer rejected. I'd won.

And he cradled me. He turned towards me and held me and gave me a delicate, tender peck on the tip of my nose.

"My sweet lady. You are amazing"

You gotta be fucking kidding me. He still thinks me sweet? Was this romantic for him?

I didn't have enough breath to reply, so we just lied on the grass, legs still entangled, his breath tickling my neck, for what seemed like an eternity. His scent and his warmth seemed to numb the roaring monster within me, who seemed ready for a nap at last. Or was I the one falling asleep?

Was I the monster?

"I'm so glad you're coming with me, Sira. I couldn't sleep just thinking about everything that could happen to you, fending for yourself in Whiterun."

What?

"You don't think I could?"

"No, that's not what I meant… I'd rather keep you by my side, that's all."

"Greedy, aren't we?" I smirked.

"I can't help it. You're just so wild ..." He took a deep breath, inhaling my hair. Something jerked inside him, and he slid away from me.

"Sira, why do you smell like Helgen?" If he had sounded sappy three seconds ago, his voice now trembled.

"Oh, there was a dragon attack at the Western Watchtower."

He jumped back to his feet.

"What?! And you're telling me now?" He quickly grabbed his clothes and splashed some water to his face. "But what happened to the city? Get up! We must raise the alarm! We'll have to evacuate Riverwood, Sira!" He threw my tunic and armour at me. "How could you not tell my uncle immediately?"

I threw my arms in the air and groaned, before slowly getting up and covering myself.

"Sira! We must…"

"We must do nothing, Hadvar. It's fine. Calm down."

"But these dragons…"

"The dragon is gone. Come here, baby."

I held him and pushed his head towards my chest, trying to come up with an orderly story. An arrow flew by from the other side of the river and stuck itself on a nearby tree, at a visible (but safe) distance from us.

Hadvar immediately pushed himself in front of me and raised his fists. I recognised the arrow's black fletching as one of Aela's practice arrows and grabbed his arm, slightly annoyed at his protective gesture. I had just killed a dragon, after all – and if Aela had wanted him dead, his fist would be useless.

"It's fine. Nobody's attacking." I told him. Aela's silhouette appeared from the other side of the river, and jumped over to us with three well placed strides.

"Hate to interrupt a passionate couple, but I need to escort my Shield-Sister towards a big platter of boiled cream tarts" Hearing her call me that stung, and she knew it.

"How did you find me?"

"They call me The Huntress for a reason. And let's face it, the rumour trail you've left behind was very easy to track." Suddenly, her usual smile turned serious. "What's this about Solitude I hear?"

Nice way to let me know how long you've been eavesdropping, eh?

"I… The guards wouldn't leave me alone! They kept going about ancient legends, asking me to shout… I just had to fly away. So I'm leaving."

"So you're running, then? You're taking off to Solitude with some farmboy and leaving your new Shield-Siblings behind, then?"

"Farmboy? I'm a member of the Imperial Legion!" I didn't really care for Hadvar's defense of his own strength.

"Aela, you don't understand! The smell of charred flesh, the smoke, the corpses… Maybe I lost myself in them? And everyone kept talking about some Dragonborn, but the dragon was inside me, but it was dead – only it was also trying to kill me. I can't describe..." I began.

"You're right. I don't understand how bad it was, because I wasn't there to fight that dragon. But you did, Sira. And you killed it!" She took a deep breath, trying to make herself sound more reassuring.

"I do know bloodlust, and I remember my first major battle – so I know what it's like to come back from it feeling like there's not enough life to grasp around you. It's scary to find yourself so fearsome, but you're fearsome and can handle it. Just stay."

"And what should I do about that Dragonborn business?"

"Well, that, I don't know. Is it true, though? Did you really eat the dragon's soul and began shouting in their language?"

"Eating is very descriptive word, but… yes. Something off the dragon came inside me, and I… may have shouted. Who told you?"

"Oh, never underestimate the guards' fondness for gossip. By the time Farkas arrived with news that he'd seen you being led outside by Irileth and a group of soldiers, Skjor had already heard news of the dragon by one of the palace guards. We thought it was just a rumour or a Stormcloak trap, so we began getting ready for battle, but then we saw the fire and the Greybeards call. As I left, word was that you'll be made Thane and sent over to High Hrothgar." Greybeards? The chanting from the sky? Confusing enough that I didn't notice Hadvar's hand had slipped out from around my waist. He had taken a step away from me.

"Are you two mad? Is this a joke?" he asked.

"Do I look like I'm bloody joking?" I replied, with the angry dragon thumping once again.

"You said there was a dragon attack. You didn't say you killed it and then began shouting… Do you realise what this means? Shouting is how Ulfric killed the High King!"

"And I'll shout you to death as well if you don't quit looking at me like I'm some monster!"

"What!?" He took another stepped back, scared. For Oblivion's sake, I was surprised at the death threat I had just uttered. That wasn't me.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I am not a monster."

Gods, please make sure he doesn't think me one.

"Of course, my sweet Imperial. Not a monster, no. It's just a lot to process." He tried bringing himself closer, but this time I jerked him away. I rolled my eyes.

"Really? I had no idea!"

"Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you. We'll go to Solitude tomorrow, we'll start over, OK?" He was delicately holding my hand as if it were made from glass, his voice sweeter than honey. "Or if you'd rather be sure… we can go to Riften first, and then make for Castle Dour." Aela's smirk grew to epic proportions. She seemed to be about to burst with laughter.

"Stop that, Aela. He's no farmboy, he's a soldier. I don't want to be baby whelp anymore, ok?"

"So we're going home then, dragon whelp?"

"Sure, may as well, before fatigue really sinks in." I turned to Hadvar and gave him a quick kiss in the lips. "I'll see you up there in a month or two, maybe. Don't be bored on my account." Suddenly stone-faced, he barely reacted. I dusted myself off and headed down the road by Aela's side. Dawn seemed to be approaching, and I found I couldn't walk very quickly anymore. Furthermore, Aela kept giving me odd side glances.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I'm trying to decide whether you're the most heartless woman in the Hold, or if you really are such a naïve Imperial."

"What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever been to Riften?"

"No. Never. Why? Is that near High Hrothor and the Grey men?"

" It's Hrothgar , and not really. So you have no idea what's in there?"

"The Thieves Guild, right?"

"Yes. The Thieves Guild. Among others. It's supposed to be quite the fascinating city."

"Aela?"

"Hmph?"

"I'm not monster, right? Because there's a monster in my chest, and it wants to kill us all. Am I monster?"

"No, you're the bloody hero of a lot of legends. Just put a helmet on once we approach the city."


	11. Guidance is for the already wise

"So have you thought of your next step?" Kodlak asked. We were having breakfast on his studio, a week after the dragon attack.

"Not quite. I've thought of like a dozen steps, really, but I have no idea which one should be next."

"Don't you think it should be heading for High Hrothgar?"

"Well, yes, that's definitely coming soon. Apparently it's a great honour and I shouldn't keep them waiting, but I just don't feel ready for it yet."

"Would you like a Shield-Sibling to accompany you?"

"No, it's not that. I know the 7000 steps are dangerous and all, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience them if they're busy doing paid jobs. Either way, I have Lydia now, I suppose she could come with me. That's not what worries me."

"Then what else do you need to be ready? You need to speak to the Greybeards if you want any hope to confirm whether you are Dragonborn – and only from that, you can decide what to do next."

"I know! And that's why I have all these ideas on my head, of skills to train and improve, but I don't really know what will be asked for me… but I can't just show up at a monastery like this. Not when I still can't control myself!"

"Ah, there it is. Do you still feel the dragon inside, bothering you?"

"All the time. It wants to fly, it wants to roar, it wants to set the world on fire. I'm constantly biting my own tongue so I don't let it speak for me." He raised an eyebrow at that. "Earlier today, Ria and Torvar were arguing about something – axes versus hammers, I think. Ria tried to ask my opinion over it, and I had to choke myself with some bread to avoid telling her the dragon does not care about the weapons of sheep, or something equally uncalled for."

"So it gives you a short temper, then."

"Yes, partly, all the time – but then there are times in which I can feel it is literally trying to speak through me. It's in there, inside me, surrounded by me, but it wants out."

"Interesting. I also saw you resumed your sprints around the city?"

"I did, this morning. I'll never be able to outrun a real dragon, but I'll be able to do a decent charge soon."

"And the guards like to watch you and cheer at you."

I giggled at the thought. "Yes, there is that. I won't lie, I don't hate the attention. I grew up trading by the docks, I never thought I'd find myself Thane of anything. It's vain, I know, but there are worse things to be proud of."

"Are you really vain, child? Or is the dragon just fiercely proud?"

"There's at least A DOZEN things the dragon is, all right? How would you know anyway?" I blushed, since I noticed I had raised my voice again. "I'm sorry. That was out of turn. I've always been vain, and I never liked slights, I guess. Aela says I should take slights as a challenge."

"Interesting way to put it. So you've been asking her for advice as well?" I felt slight disappointment in his voice, but why?

"Well, we talked a lot the other night – that of the attack. She has an interesting outlook on things." I stopped to stare at him. "Farkas said you've always been here to counsel him, as if he were your own son."

"That was kind of him to say." There! That glimpse to his eyes. This is how he looks when he's flattered. I made my best effort to memorize that expression as I nibbled on another slice of eidar cheese.

"He is a kind man, in general."

"That he is. He is often slighted as well."

"I know, for being stupid. I can see why – too many people seem to think book-smarts is the only valid way of being smart."

"Everyone here has different talents and carries different burdens. Yours may be a bit more monstrous, but always keep in mind you're not alone. You can learn a lot from everyone here, even from the ones who don't look like they want to teach you anything."

I quickly caught the reference. A lither version of his twin, Vilkas had the same elegance of movement than Hadvar, but none of the gentleness. He was known to be a great reader and an immensely clever man, but he scowled twice every time Farkas chuckled and was quick to outbursts of rage – at least whenever I was present.

"If you mean Vilkas, I don't think it's a matter of looks. Some people are just not meant to get along." I'd been in Jorrvaskr less than two weeks total, and we'd already clashed over sitting space by the library twice. He'd also been heard mocking my sprints and jump as "a foolish way to reach Thanehood", to which I'd replied that it was still proving much better than his method of wanking, scowling, and acting as if his shit didn't stink. That was followed by an overly brutal session of two-handed weapon training, which, if it hadn't involved wooden greatswords, would've left him sterile and me dead.

"Remember what you told me about using a frostbite spell against that dragon?"

"That it made no sense to fight fire with fire?"

"Exactly. You fight fire with ice, but what if you'd wanted to ally yourself with the fire? Would you have shot ice at it then?"

"Is this supposed to be a riddle? Because I know Companions are not supposed to use magic."

"It is no riddle. Merely an old man's ramblings. Either way, it's probably time to go back to train. I have to negotiate a contract with an… important family, who has lost an heirloom in Valtheim Towers. It's halfway to Ivarstead, so I was thinking you and a Shield Sibling could take care of that, and then continue onto High Hrothgar."

"Ah, I see. You're sending me with Vilkas to see the Greybeards. Right. With all due respect, sir, I'm an Imperial. We invented diplomacy and insinuation."

"And you made a great service to leaders and politicians everywhere. I'll see you soon, Sira."


	12. Seven thousand word strikes

Valtheim Towers was half a day's north east of Whiterun, and it was turning out to be a very tense trek. We had not even reached the end of the farmlands when the exasperating quietness got the better of me.

"Well, I blame your brother for this" I said. "Clearly he's punishing me for that evening where I kept him waiting outside Dragonsreach, or punishing you for taking his sweet roll, and that's why he suggested this experiment to Kodlak."

"Oh, so I'm punishment, now? Is the Dragonborn displeased she's being sent on a job with the common rabble?"

"Vilkas, if you were the common sort of rabble, you would not be half as unpleasant."

"Yes, it must be a pity I'm not some farmboy you can wrap around your dragon-slaying finger." Damn you, Aela. Of all people, you had to tell him about the _Riverwood_ _Incident_?

"Aren't you? My bad. There's only one way to verify, though." I extended my right pinky towards him. "Come on, get wrapped. Oh, you can't. Too stiff, that pole up your arse. Bummer."

"And she's funny, too! Not content with saving the city, monopolizing Kodlak's attention, and being more important than everybody else, now the mighty Dragonborn delights the crowds with her refined wit!"

"Oy, what's your problem? I cheated _you_ out of _your_ _dragon_ or what? Who's being the entitled little tramp?" No, Sira, you promised you wouldn't fight fire with fire. And for fuck's sake, keep the docks out of your speech.

Too late. We were no longer walking, just standing in front of each other.

"You have some nerve, girl! You think I care about the damn dragons? For all I care, you can throw yourself off from the Throat of the World, you and your damn dragons. Get your housecarl to protect you. What makes you think we all owe you shit for accidentally slaying a dragon?"

"I NEVER ASKED FOR SHIT! I didn't ask to be called dragonborn, and I sure as hell didn't as for an escort on this trip. But you, you didn't like me from the instant I entered the mead hall looking for Kodlak. We just don't like each other, own it! I don't care if you turn back right now, you explain it to Kodlak, I don't give a fuck!"

"Oh, so now I have to go my Harbinger and mentor to tell him I refused his command? Unlike you, little girl, I have some respect for duty."

"Then prove it. Or not, I don't care. As long as _you_ don't blame _me_ for your inability to follow your mentor's advice."

He flinched. It lasted 3 seconds at most, but his eyebrows raised themselves in surprise. I was onto something. What advice wasn't he following? I kept staring. Either he was going to hit me or he was going to apologize.

"Of course, Sira. We should keep moving. Kodlak will worry if we don't return on time."

He sounded legitimately contrite, at least. I broke away from the staring contest and resumed walking.

"Marvellous. Let's go, then." I waited a while before extending a nirnroot branch. "It's really admirable, the way you and your brother always rely on him. And each other. For what is worth, I'm jealous."

"Are you an only child?"

"Yes. I know, it shows."

"I wasn't going to mock you over it. My brother told me you saw him _transform._ "

"I promised not to talk about it."

"Well, I'll talk then. The beast blood… it makes everything more intense. Sometimes I'm too intense in my anger." For someone so eloquent, he seemed to be having great trouble choosing words. "Especially now we promised Kodlak not to transform. It builds up and then you explode. So there."

"Farkas didn't mention anything about repressing inner monsters. Then again, he's an adorable puppy." At last, I knew what it was that we were supposed to get from each other – but only if I cared enough to share back, and I didn't.

"My brother… has his own way of dealing with things. Either way, it wasn't honourable to mistreat you over something you had no control over."

"Right. Now we can just despise each other over your war paint and my annoying giggles _._ We're making progress, Kodlak will be proud." As far as a mutual apology, this was as good as it's going to get.

"Excellent. At this rate, we'll have wiped out the Thieves Guild by the time we have to exchange Saturalia presents." When not angry, his voice came out deep and velvety.

"Challenge accepted. I'll have Lydia hand you a list of which gems match my eyes better."

"Excellent. I'll have it engraved in silver and shaped like a decapitated angry wolf."

"Just make sure it doesn't look like a puppy! You can't decapitate a puppy, that's evil."

"Now I don't know if we're still arguing, joking, or threatening my brother. Either way, time to quiet down, Valtheim towers is just around there" he pointed down the road.

We stayed quiet for a while, counting sounds. I rested my hands on each hilts, examining the impressive, but deadly-looking, open stone bridge that connected each tower. After a couple of minutes, I had managed to approach enough to hear their voices.

"Meatheads have set up a toll booth!" I whispered. "All the better. We can just pay them and not bother with ranged attacks."

"I'm not letting them take my money." He replied, insulted.

"Then take it back once we're done." I swear, these lads sometimes need to have everything spelled out.

* * *

We made short work of the toll inspectors. Pretending to pay allowed us to get close enough for them to die without making much noise – and more time to stalk how many more would be inside. It seemed like there were only four of them, one of them clearly the chief.

The task ahead of us was practically solving itself, which I should know by now, is never a good omen. The necklace we were supposed to retrieve was not around, so we would need to cross into the inner tower and face that horrid bridge. We didn't know how many bandits would be on the other side, and we had to figure out the best way to cross it – the bridge was barely narrow enough to let one person pass, and there was at least a 40 feet free fall between the bridge and… the rocks of a waterfall.

"The important thing is to avoid any melee on the bridge." I said.

"I'm pretty sure the bandits will want to avoid it as well. Most likely, they'll try to push us out just at the end of the bridge. I say we charge as quickly as possible, so we won't give them any time to throw anything at us."

"Right. I don't think they'd be able to hit us with much force, not unless they have a crossbow." I'd had a crossbow once. "Which is unlikely."

"Very well, whelp. I'm willing to risk it."

The truth is, I was not. I don't see things properly from a certain distance, and mysterious blurs can be terrifying.

"Then lead the way." I braced myself to avoid looking down, focusing my attention on reaching the small arch right at the middle of the bridge. Just one half, then the other, then safety. Vilkas ran. I ran behind him. He was hit by an ebony arrow, straight on the chest. Fuck, they'd seen us and they had a crossbow. Even despite the distance, the force of the hit was enough to make him stumble – although he did not seem to be bleeding. Fortunately, he landed squarely on his ass, in the middle of the bridge, _frozen_.

An axe-wielding brute came through the door, straight at us. I readied my swords, but he was already too close to us, the bridge too narrow, and Vilkas still unable to get up.

"You'll be easier to rob when you're dead!" the bandit screamed.

I crouched to better grab Vilkas. "Oh, don't you dare! **_FUS!_** " The bandit was pushed off the bridge, his bones loudly cracking when he hit the rocks below. Disgusting. I pulled Vilkas up to our tower as quickly as I could. He began to unfreeze a couple of feet before we reached safe cover.

"Bastards have themselves an _enchanted_ crossbow! I'm calling dibs on it." I screamed, as I looked for barrels to secure the door. I had no idea how long it would take him to finish unfreezing – just that large bodies usually have a harder time with it.

"You can have it, Sira. Thank you."

"For what? Not letting you die? You must really think me a heartless harpy."

"I'm just trying to be polite here."

"It was nothing. They would've never believed me it wasn't on purpose. You feeling better? That barricade won't hold much longer and I'm counting three different voices on the other side of the bridge."

"Can you try and shoot one of them while I finish catching my breath?"

"I can, but I won't promise much. My long distance sight is abysmal. Here, have some juice. I made it myself." I handed him one of my magic resistance potions.

"What is this?"

"You don't want to know. If you begin to grow donkey ears or get diarrhea, take your complaints to Athis. His recipe."

* * *

We set up camp on a clearance right before the river's main crossing. Vilkas quickly busied himself setting a fire and skinning two rabbits, while I sat down to clean up our weapons. We had mostly stayed silent after clearing the tower, still too wary of each other to attempt any more small talk, but free of hostilities. Still, it seemed like it'd be quite a boring evening. Maybe this is what books are supposed to be for.

My new crossbow had a large soul gem and seemed to have plenty of charges left. I also managed to get decently-fitting leather armour off the crossbow's now-deceased owner. After I was done cleaning everything else, I studied my new possessions, examining every possible sign of wear or extra perk they could have. After a few minutes, I caught Vilkas studying me.

"Do I have mud on my face?" I asked. After so long without talking, my voice took on a weird low register. It may have sounded more insolent than I meant.

"That thing you did at the bridge, where did you learn it?"

"What thing? The pushing thing?"

"Yes, the pushing thing. Skjor mentionedyou had some learning of magic, but I was expecting a healing spell, maybe throw some fireballs. I had never seen that."

"Oh, I can throw fireballs. But yeah, the pushing thing's different. Nobody taught me that. I didn't learn it. It just came out. Only the second time it has, too."

"Right. The day you killed that dragon, right?"

"Yup. The famous shout that's the reason for this whole trip. I think." I lowered my eyes, not wanting to engage in another shouting match.

"Well, we should be arriving in Ivarstead tomorrow, it's just two hours from here at most. From there we can just begin the ascent straight away. How long do you think you'll talk to the Greybeards?"

"I don't know, Vilkas"

"With some haste, we can be back in the town for supper and stay at the inn before heading back in the early morning."

"Ok, so then that's the plan."

"It's a worthless plan if we don't know how long we'll be up there."

"Right, sorry about that." The dragon was not enjoying the questions, but I was hoping to keep the truce as much as possible.

"That's all? Sorry?"

"Unfortunately, it is." I sighed, summoning the strength not to shoot him.

"Divines, you really have no idea what is it you're doing there, don't you?"

"Nope, not in the slightest. For all I know, my shouting is bad for their business and they want to throw me off their cliff. Or they'll decide I have to stay there and learn whatever mystic knowledge they specialise in. I don't know. I'm an outlander, I know next to nothing about nord myths or dragons."

"Then why are you bothering at all?" Because whatever it is that a Dragonborn is, it's important enough that it got me a Thanehood and a housecarl. That won't be considered an acceptable answer though. "If Nord myth is nothing to you and nobody's actively forcing you, I mean."

"Because… Helgen was awful. And it's clear that if anyone knows how to avoid another Helgen, it's them. It's likely, I think, I _hope_ , that once we're up there they'll realise it's a mistake, that there's other Dragonborn out there who can go around hunting dragons for them. Then I won't have to approach another one ever again. But until we know, I can't run, can I? Not if I want to sleep at night. I must."

"Aye, you must. Well, I don't think they'll throw you off a cliff."

"Neither do I – they sound like pacifists, at least. If they were to want to keep me from leaving, though…"

"I won't let them. You're my shield-sister, and I would never be able to convince Aela it wasn't on purpose."


	13. We hunt, we dance, we make our fate

"Ah, there she is, my favourite drinking buddy." It was barely 5 PM when I walked back into Jorrvaskr with Vilkas – too early for such a greeting from anyone except Torvar.

"He means you, I presume? He knows you for longer." I asked my dusty companion.

"He does, and that's why we know he doesn't mean me. You can put all that loot you compulsively took to good use now. Well, to _some_ use." Without so much as a nod in Torvar's direction, Vilkas took off to the library.

"Ah, Torvar! Good to see you too! You'll have to give me a few minutes while I drop stuff off, first. Seen Aela, per chance?"

"The lady Aela does not fancy drinking with the whelps. I'll wait here so you can tell me about all your adventures at the Mare!"

"Sure, just don't let her hear you call her Lady Aela"

"Do I look like I want to cut my own life short, dragon whelp?" He joked, as he followed me down the stairs.

Judging from his slurring, it wasn't too much of a gamble to simply delay my "freshening up" until he would simply pass out. It's not that I dislike Torvar – he's definitely nicer, if sleazier than Njada, even if not as interesting as Athis, but a combination of fatigue, anxiety, and impatience at my own shadow had chased me all the way back from Ivarstead. I needed solo time.

We all lose these gambles every once in a while. Instead of continuing to drink and passing out on the table, as he was supposed to, he diligently waited for me, refusing to finish the bottle of ale he'd already opened until I was ready, and even convincing Aela to join us. Once I heard her signs of impatience, I abruptly stopped stalling – I could really use a chat with her, Torvar's lame jokes be damned.

The Bannered Mare had few empty tables, as was expected for any evening. Fortunately for us, Torvar quickly abandoned us in order to prove his worth against Uthgerd, who seemed about to remain unbroken for yet another night. Between their loud brawl, everyone's fear of Aela, and the fact that everyone has their own things to talk about, we had all the visible privacy we needed.

"Very well, dragon whelp. You just made me endure Torvar for almost an hour, waiting considered. Make it worth it and tell me everything."

"Everything-everything? Now, aren't we ambitious?"

"Everything important. I don't need to hear the exact count for how many wildflowers you plucked on each section of the trip."

"Fulfilling the contract was easy enough, we only came close to dying once each. I got a kickass enchanted bow off one of the bandits, still haven't decided if I want to sell it or keep it."

"Sell it, kid. Enchanted gear wears off and ends up losing its value, and you can't do anything about it without filled soul gems – and those require more hocus-pocus worthy of the Winterhold crowd, not us. Don't use it, and get rid of it while it's still worth something. Anything else?"

No beating around the bush and utmost practicality: this is why I had wanted to talk to her in the first place.

"I killed a frost troll! I had never seen one before, and I hope I never do, to be honest. We came across it on our way up the 7,000 steps – around the 5,000th one, I think. I still need to research what troll fat is good for, though. Also, on the way back to Ivarstead, we were asked to clear a barrow from some necromancer who was terrorizing the village. He had some expensive gear as well, plus a weird sapphire piece shaped like a claw that opened a secret door, and may be worth a fair deal of gold. I'm supposed to divide that with Vilkas, though, but we ought to find a good appraiser first."

"Makes sense, I don't think Belethor knows enough about jewelry, for all his macho 'I'll sell my sister' talk."

"The Khajiit caravans, maybe? There's an Ysolda around the market who says they're reliable."

"Just leave your coin purse at home when you go to them."

"Will do. What have you been up to, by the way? Did you go do any jobs while we were gone?"

"Nope, mostly I've been stuck training whelps. I'd be careful around Njada and Torvar, by the way, they don't like that you've been sent out on paid work so quickly. Torvar may be happy making you pay for his drink, but Njada can be vicious."

"Right. They'll get over it. That's it?"

"I managed to sneak out for a hunt two nights ago. We slayed a sabre cat without any chest damage, it will make a fashionable Imperial lady a wonderful coat, I'm sure."

Ever since the night of the dragon attack, Aela and I had developed a tacit complicity on all matters of the heart and pocket. I knew who _we_ meant. "Then just spent a lot of time sitting around, wondering about the meeting with the Greybeards and how skilled you'd be at dodging questions about it."

I pretended to be mad at that last comment.

"You speak as if you thought me sneaky and unreliable!"

"Oh, I don't, but should we ask around Riverwood?"

"We can, but I'd appreciate if that story is not shared any further with people who already hate me."

"Such long, elegant requests. My barbaric nord ears don't get it – and you're STILL dodging the question."

"Fine! I won't dodge anything. There isn't much to conceal either way. Other than confirming that I _am_ some sort of prophesized hero who can absorb the souls of dragons, the Greybeards would give any Imperial courtier a run for their money. I may be more confused now than before I talked to any bloody Greybeards."

"How so?"

"There was a lot of talk of powers and destiny, and about things they can't tell me. Ah, apparently that big black monster from Helgen was Alduin _the World Eater_ and he's some sort of dragon prince who will bring the end of times. And it seems like only the Dragonborn, that is, yours truly, can get rid of him, something about absorbing its soul, apparently. Also, shouting, or thu'um, which is basically taking words from the dragon language, which I learn through having their souls for supper. But they didn't tell me how to do it, where to start, how to quiet down the dragons once I'm done with them, nor anything remotely useful – just to go prove myself by fetching some horn off a grave. Not one that does anything to dragons, mind you, it just belonged to a Greybeard."

"So basically, everything they had to say was either melodramatic and scary, or vague and unhelpful."

"Exactly."

"That's to be expected of monks, mages, and such milkdrinkers. So be it. Kodlak was just saying this morning, you came to us for a reason. He wouldn't elaborate, but in light of this "find your destiny" nonsense… You seem like the type of person who gets things to happen around you, and once they happen, you get things done. You managed to get yourself to Skyrim just in time for Alduin's attack, and to be passing by Pellagia's just in time to kill a giant… You don't hunt, right?"

"No. I'm from a decadent Cyrodiilic port, remember?"

"Right. For once, this is about my childhood, not yours. Something I learned with my father, in the woods, hunting. See, when you're hunting, you can track your prey and then chase it around all you want – but it's the prey that chooses to stumble near you and lets you track it. No hunter can summon a bear where there are none – but I'll be damned to miss its scent or let it escape."

"So I'm just supposed to go about chasing bandits and rescuing abducted children until I smell Alduin or one of his siblings?"

"Maybe, yes. If the Greybeards would have you do magics and meditate and fetch mythical horns, then they'd tell you how to do it. Forget them. You keep doing your thing. The Circle will make sure you become the best possible warrior you can be. I'll make sure of it. You'll have a shield-sibling by your side."

"I'll carry some fire resist potions everywhere." For lack of a better plan, may as well go with Aela's.

"That's the spirit. The day after tomorrow we can put the strategy to the test. I've got a job for you and Njada."

"Ah, such joy."

"Hey, it's her or Vilkas."

"I wasn't complaining! I can always use extra coin."

"So I'll take it you didn't become best friends over the past three days?"

"The troll would've killed me if it weren't for him. He's still an insufferable prick with out-of-control mood swings, but he's also a brave fighter. He still thinks me greedy and vain, but he didn't let me die."

"That sounds like progress. Worth another round to celebrate."

Lousy plan after precarious plan destroyed, Aela seemed to have figured out my life for months to come, armed with just a couple of tankards, a seductive side smile, and heaps of dry wit. After 27 years of improvising and survival, it felt weird to have a purpose. Stranger still, the respectability I had craved since I was a stupid 11 year old who played with a stolen circlet seemed within reach of my fingertips.

I came here ready to play the innocent orphan and the well-bred textile trader. To get here, I'd played the pickpocket, the errand girl, the unattainable seductress, the shy and gawky adept mage, the hard-working and ambitious apprentice, the disloyal confidante, the lover for rent. However, Skyrim was a strange society indeed, where a blade and some guts could get you what would normally take a last name, several yards of fine silks, and impossible dexterity with eating utensils. If Skyrim needs a hero, I can play that part as well.


End file.
